Vincent and Avril
by SwissMiss1
Summary: Ballykissangel continues where Series 6 left off.
1. It Was Born In A Stable

Vincent and Avril

Chapter One

"It Was Born in the Stable"

by Margaret Pattison

  
Father Vincent Sheahan had settled in nicely in Avril's spare room. Her offer of a roof over his head had suited him; he liked her, he liked the atmosphere at the yard (both the industrious yet easygoing manner of the workers and the natural setting), and he liked the feeling of not having someone monitoring his comings and goings. 

Certainly none of those criteria had been fulfilled at Kathleen Hendley's place, where he had had the dubious distinction of being a houseguest for a couple of days after receiving the eviction notice from the Credit Bank of Ireland. Not even a houseguest, really, as he had been obliged to pay for room and board, although he had to admit that the room had been immaculate if fussy, and the board more than adequate. But he had felt something like a pampered housepet, with Kathleen always simpering over him and wanting to know where he was going and when he would be back ("Just so that I know whether to keep a plate warm for you, Father Sheahan.") She was a religiously faithful woman, no doubt, trying to do the right thing according to her own rigid interpretation of moral code, but she was just too narrow-minded, provincial, and unyielding for his taste. 

He on the other hand was willing to bend the rules, as evidenced by his often casual mode of dress, or at the other extreme apply the narrowest letter of the law in order to achieve his own ends, as he had in the matter of his divorced Australian friend. And now, he knew that Father Mac was none too pleased with his most recent change of address. An attractive, virile Australian man sharing accommodations with a beautiful young divorcee was sure to raise some eyebrows, and Vincent knew that Father Mac wished him to avoid even the appearance of impropriety. Well, to hell with his outdated ideas of decency and morals. Decency to Vincent meant respect for others, and morals meant acting with charity in your heart. Vincent respected Avril, and she was being charitable toward him. She wasn't asking for any recompense, but Vincent was scrupulous about paying for his own food and drink (limited to tea, coffee, and mineral water, of course!) and he figured that when the utility bills came in he'd pay half of them. In the meantime, he did his best to keep things tidy and stay out of Avril's way. 

He felt that the arrangement was to Avril's benefit, too. She seemed lonesome, in the brittle way that one is who builds walls around her heart in order to protect it from being broken again. Of course, she would never admit to feeling lonely--she was too busy for that--but she didn't have anyone else who she could really talk to. Ever since the calamitous reunion with her ex-husband and her sister, Rosie, it was clear to Vincent that Avril needed someone to listen to her. Without a sympathetic ear, he was certain Avril ran the risk of returning to her old, self-destructive ways. He understood better than anyone what could drive her back to the bottle, as he fought daily with the same demons. 

One of the thoroughbred mares in Avril's care was due to foal any day. Siobhan came by daily to check on the mare's progress, and Avril had instructed the stable hands to keep a particular eye on the horse, and inform her of any changes in the mare's behavior. Everything was normal that Thursday evening when the last of the hands checked in with Avril on his way home. 

"Good night, Ms. Burke, everything's buttoned up for the night." 

"Thanks, Corry, nothing doing with Pilgrim's Progress?" 

"Ah no, she's as still as the night." 

"Right, well, see you tomorrow then." 

Corry turned and trudged across the gravel-strewn yard to his car. Avril looked around in the purple twilight and breathed in deeply the smells of damp earth, fresh hay, warm manure, and horse musk. It was comforting to her. She also found it comforting to know that Father Sheahan would be returning soon. Or later. It didn't matter, she never wondered what he was up to (but after all, what can a teetotalling Catholic priest find to do in a village the size of Ballykissangel after 6 pm?), but in the course of the week that he had been staying with her, he had never spent an entire night away. She turned to go back inside and start plowing through the pile of invoices and bills that had gathered on her desk in the past week. "Eenie, meenie, mynie, moe," she muttered to herself. 

About a half-hour later, Avril heard the familiar grumble of the Granada's engine as it approached on the access road. She stood up, glad for a brief stretch and a respite for her eyes, and flipped the switch on the coffee pot. Looking out the window as she leaned back against the sink, she saw Father Sheahan's red car drive into the yard even as she heard the gravel crunching under its tires. 

She smiled to herself. It was crazy, the way this rapport had developed between the two of them. She had made it clear from the start that she was not a religious person, but that didn't seem to bother him in the least; he didn't even seem to think of her as a "challenge" to be converted to his way of thinking, but rather accepted her at face value and tried nothing more than to be a true friend. And while she had to admit that he was a handsome man, she never found herself thinking of him in any way other than as a friend. It was nice, not to have those awkward scenes where the sexual potential was everpresent, as she had with Edso. Aargh, poor Edso. Avril felt uncomfortable just thinking about it. He was a nice guy and all, but she just wanted to sink into the ground whenever he, or she, made one of those fumbling comments. She couldn't even bring herself to look him in the eye anymore. No, a purely platonic relationship was just what she needed just now, and she was glad that Father Sheahan was the one who had happened along. 

Avril heard three firm knocks on the door, and then it opened. Vincent entered the dim living room and immediately turned his head expectantly toward the kitchen. 

His face lit up when he saw Avril standing there. "Avril, hi," he greeted her as he closed and locked the door behind himself. He came into the kitchen and glanced at the disorderly scatter of papers around the computer on the desk. "Working late?" he grinned. 

"Hi yourself," she responded lightly, arms folded across her chest. "It's not late yet. I've barely opened the office. Two am, now that would be considered working late," she quipped. She looked down at the coffee pot, the red light indicating that the proper temperature had not been reached yet. "Just waiting for this thing to deliver my dose of caffeine. Care to join me?" 

"Ah, nah." He inclined his head toward the living room, on the other side of which the spare bedroom was situated. "I'll just be turning in. Big day tomorrow. We've got a bus heading up to Knock." 

"Knock? Wouldn't have thought you'd go in for that kind of thing." 

"What kind of thing?" 

Avril waved her fingers in a razzle-dazzle display. "You know, big brouhaha, vendors, carny atmosphere." 

"I think you have to look beyond that to what's at the heart of the matter. And anyway, it wasn't my choice. It's what the seniors group voted for." 

"Well bring me back a souvenir. Maybe I'll get religion after all." 

Vincent smiled warmly at her. "I'll pick something out special. Don't knock yourself out with that now." He indicated the paperwork on the desk. 

Avril promised, "I'll be sure to knock off when my eyes start to cross." 

"Good night." Vincent walked back down the hall. 

"Night." 

The red light on the coffee machine finally blinked off. Avril picked up the pitcher and poured the steaming brew into the mug she had set at the ready on the counter top. It was good to have friends. 

It was shortly after midnight and Avril was just finishing restacking her papers when she heard a disturbing sound from outside. She pricked her ears, frowned and hurried out the door to listen more closely. It sounded like a moaning whimper, low and hollow. Avril rushed to the pregnant mare's stall, running over the sharp stones in her stocking feet, fearing the worst. The other horses were looking out into the yard. They were clearly nervous, shaking their heads and snorting. "Damn," she muttered under her breath as she reached the stall. The mare was clearly having difficulties, from the sound of it. Avril reached around inside the door and switched on the electric light. The mare was lying on her side on the floor, the straw and sawdust stained dark around her. She was breathing shallowly and her eyes were wide with pain, fear and shock. 

"Damn damn damn damn," Avril exclaimed in escalating tones as she ran back to the apartment. She stumbled over a chair as she rushed blindly through the darkened living room, stubbing her toe. "Damn!" she shouted, hopping toward the kitchen. Once there, she went directly to the desk and rummaged wildly around, incidentally pushing her neatly stacked piles of paper to the floor. 

"Where's the damn phone!" she exploded in anxiety and frustration. She whirled around, scanning the room. Her eye fell on the kitchen table, where her cell phone was lying. She grabbed the phone and punched the buttons furiously, then held the phone to her ear. "Come on, come on," she muttered impatiently, waiting for what seemed an interminably long time while the phone on the other end beeped in measured beats. 

Finally the call was answered. Avril paced around the kitchen, shouting into the phone. "Siobhan! I need you out here quick, Pilgrim's Progress is in trouble." She stopped pacing, froze in her tracks. "What do you mean she isn't there? Who is this?" As she listened to the answer, she rolled her eyes. "Great. Well do you know where to reach her?" She listened again, nodded impatiently and finally interrupted, "OK, OK, you do that, whatever, just get me a vet out here asap. Avril Burke." She held the phone away from her ear, jabbed the off button, and stuffed the phone into the back pocket of her jeans. She was about to head back out toward the door when she was startled to see Vincent standing there in a dark blue T-shirt, gray sweatpants, and bare feet. 

He had obviously been awakened from a deep sleep. His hair was tousled and he blinked against the light in the kitchen. "What's going on?" he inquired thickly, pressing the heel of his hand to his eye. 

Avril pushed past him. "Pilgrim's Progress has gone into labor and it isn't going well," she answered grimly. She stopped just outside the door to pull on a pair of tall black boots. 

Vincent quickly became alert and followed her outside. "Is Siobhan on her way?" 

"I hope so. That was the babysitter on the phone. Apparently she and Brendan went into Cilldargan for the evening. She said she expected them back soon and she'd send her out as soon as she got in. But that might be too late." She headed toward the stables again. 

Vincent hurried along next to her, hobbling across the gravel, offering, "Do you want me to go out and look for her?" 

Avril brushed off the suggestion. "Needle in a haystack. I'm going to see if I can figure out exactly what the problem is. Maybe I can do something." 

"What about Doc Ryan? Have you tried him?" 

"He knows about as much about delivering a foal as I do about saying Mass," Avril said derogatorily. "And anyway, he doesn't have the necessary equipment or medicines,"she ended lamely. 

They reached the stall where the mare was laboring. Avril gently unhooked the latch and slowly opened the gate. The horse whinnied nervously from its position on the ground. "There, Pilgrim's Progress," Avril crooned soothingly. "Good girl. I'm going to try to help you." She stealthily entered the stall, keeping to the wall. She knelt down next to the horse's rear and tried as best she could to gauge the situation. 

Vincent hovered in the doorway, averting his gaze to the ground. "How does it look?" he asked with concern. 

Avril sighed and looked over her shoulder at him. "I can't see any obvious cause for her distress here. The best I can figure is, the foal's in a bad position. It might need to be turned." 

"Is that something you can do?" 

"It's pretty risky. I might strangle the foal or cause internal damage to the mare. But the alternative is to sit here and watch her expire, taking the foal with her." She pressed her lips together, weighing the options. 

Vincent watched her intently, realizing how much more rode on this decision than just the lives of the two animals, precious as they were. If she did nothing, and either of the two horses took harm or even died, she would be blamed for her inaction. If she attempted a cure, and it backfired, she would be blamed for that as well. Either scenario would lead to an investigation by the animal protection authorities with possible legal repercussions. And either way, she would lose the business of at least this owner, and most probably of others as well. It could mean the end of the stables. 

Finally, Avril exhaled sharply through her nose. "Well come on. Let's get this foal out." 

Vincent's eyes widened. "Who me?" 

"Just get in here. I can't do it alone." 

Vincent stood up and gingerly picked his way through the straw in his bare feet. "I don't know nothing 'bout birthing no babies, Miss Burke," he attempted to joke with a strained smile on his face. 

Avril jerked her head toward the back of the stall, where the horse's head was, and ordered, "Hold her head. I'm going to see what I can do from this end." 

Vincent stepped delicately past Avril to the back of the stall and hunkered down next to the poor creature's head. "All right. What should I do?" 

"Just hold on to her head so she can't get up. Try to keep her calm." 

"Right," Vincent answered with an air of authority. Clearly having no idea what he was doing, he tried to find a place to grip the horse's head without alarming her further. He settled on one hand spanning her nose and the other buried in her mane behind her ears. He tried to keep his attention on the horse's face, so that he wouldn't have to watch what Avril was doing at the other end. He was pretty sure he knew what was entailed in turning an unborn foal inside the mother animal, but he didn't necessarily want to have those suspicions confirmed. 

"I think I know what's wrong," Avril puffed after a couple of minutes. "If I'm right, it's not as bad as I thought. The little fella just needs a little guidance." She grunted and grimaced as she tried to correct the situation. Suddenly, a thin, beeping, electronic version of the William Tell Overture began playing. "Damn," muttered Avril. 

"What?" 

"My cell phone." 

Vincent attempted a joke. "Thought it was the heavenly host announcing the birth." 

Avril ignored that. "Can you get it?" 

"Where is it?" 

"Back pocket." 

"Your back pocket?" 

Avril dropped all semblance of civility. "No, Pilgrim's Progress's! Of course my back pocket. My hands are a little preoccupied at the moment, do you mind?" The tune stopped, then began over from the beginning. 

Vincent grunted and tenderly removed his hands from Pilgrim's Progress's head, then quickly stepped over to where Avril was positioned at the horse's back end. He crouched down behind her, trying to avoid looking at what she was doing, but couldn't help noticing the blood and gore. 

"Kind of messy, eh?" he noted nervously. 

"The phone, Vincent!" she hissed. "It's probably about Siobhan." 

He checked with her once more. "Er...in your pocket, you say?" 

Avril's patience had long since worn thin. "Yes, sometime today please!" 

Vincent looked at Avril's backside in order to ascertain which pocket the phone was in; he didn't want to thrust his hand in randomly, only to discover that it was the wrong pocket. Luckily, he thought with a certain degree of appreciation, Avril's jeans were quite tight, so it was easy to discover the outline of the cell phone, small as it was. He shrugged to himself, "What the hell..." and slipped one hand in. There was already very little space between the layers of fabric, and the size of his hand made maneuvering tricky, but he finally managed to get two fingers around the cell phone and ease it out. It started its tune anew. He held the phone out to Avril. 

"Well answer it you omadhaun!" she exploded. 

"Oh. Right." He smiled at her to cover his embarrassment. He peered at the rows of buttons and finally found one with a symbol of a telephone receiver next to it. He gamely pushed the button and held it to his ear. "Hello?" He listened for a moment, pointing to the phone and mouthing to Avril, "It's Siobhan." Then he spoke, "No, that's right Siobhan, she's right here. Hold on." He was about to hold the phone out for Avril to take, but remembered her last response and decided against it. He spoke into the phone again, "Ah, sorry Siobhan, she can't come to the phone right now. We're in with Pilgrim's Progress. And Avril's, well...IN Pilgrim's Progress, if you catch my meaning." He listened, then held the phone away from his mouth and said to Avril, "She's on her way. Wants to know what the situation looks like." 

"Well you can see what it looks like!" 

"Right." He spoke into the phone again, "Well Siobhan, I'd say it isn't a pretty picture. I think the sooner you can get here, the better for all of us." He listened again, then responded, "OK, I'll let her know. Hold on a sec." He held the phone away from his mouth again and asked Avril, "Is there anything else you want to ask? Or can I hang up." 

Avril was about to give another tense answer when her face suddenly lit up. "I think I've got it." She strained her arm, pulling with all her strength, then relaxed. "Put that thing down and put your arms around me," she ordered Vincent. 

"Wha--?" Vincent didn't understand what she had in mind. 

Avril quickly explained, "I don't have the strength in my one arm, but I've got a good grip. Put your arms around me and pull me back. Maybe we can pull the foal out that way." 

Vincent looked around desperately for a place to put the phone, checked his sweats but didn't find any pockets, and finally dropped the phone in the corner of the stall. Too late, he realized that Siobhan was still on the line. Not thinking straight, he was about to reach over and pick up the phone again to say good-bye when Avril urged him, "Quick, before it slips away again!" 

Vincent called weakly, "Bye Siobhan," and sat down behind Avril, putting his arms around her. Despite the fact that it was a cool night and Avril was wearing no more than a T-shirt, the physical effort of her endeavours and her nervous anxiety had dampened her skin. Vincent caught the slightly astringent scent of her perspiration, mixed with something sweet which he couldn't quite place, but found rather pleasant. He wasn't sure where to put his arms, so he clasped them around her waist. 

"Around my chest, you're not doing the Heimlich!" She raised her elbows to allow him access. 

He released his grip around her waist and carefully positioned his arms around her upper chest, nearly at her collarbones, grasping his own forearms tightly to create a strong bond. Her hair, bound together at the nape of her neck in a pony tail, brushed against his face, and he recognized that that was the source of the sweetness. "Ready?" he asked. 

"Just pull for God's sake!" 

Vincent took a deep breath and pulled Avril's body hard toward his own. But of course the combined weight of Avril and the foal, plus whatever was blocking the foal's progress inside its mother, added up to more than his own weight, and he was only able to pull Avril back a few centimeters before he slid forward against her. "No traction," he apologized. He thought quickly, backed up again, and stretched one leg out alongside Avril, in order to brace it against the horse's rear. "Again," he warned. He took another deep breath and pulled Avril as hard as he could toward himself, while pushing against the horse's back with his bare foot. This time at least he was able to hold his ground. 

"Keep going, don't stop now!" Avril ordered excitedly. "I think it's working!" 

Vincent adjusted his grip and pulled mightily. Avril's arm slowly reappeared, and alongside it a pair of hooves. 

"Whoo-hoo! Look at that!" Vincent exclaimed with joy and relief. 

"Maybe she can do it herself now," Avril suggested hopefully. "I think she needs to stand up, so that gravity can help her. I'll stay here and hold on to the foal so that it doesn't slip back inside. You go make her stand up." 

Vincent carefully disentangled himself from Avril and stepped around the horse's body. He leaned over and tried to lift the mare by the shoulders, which was necessarily a futile undertaking. 

Avril saw what he was doing and suggested, more kindly this time, "Try it at her head. You're going to guide her more than lift her. She'll get the idea." 

Vincent grinned sheepishly, but the glow of their partial success didn't allow his enthusiasm to be dampened by his ignorance. He stepped over to Pilgrim's Progress's head and crouched down next to her. "Come on, girl, time to get up," he gently coaxed. He raised the horse's head off the ground and pushed her chin up firmly. "Up girl, up," he ordered, pushing on her neck. 

The horse seemed to get the message and moved her forelegs underneath her in preparation for raising the front part of her body off the ground. 

"That's it, horse, good horse," Vincent encouraged her. He stood up beside her and tugged at her mane. 

The horse groaned, snorted, and shook her head. Vincent took his hands off her and stepped back into the corner. All at once, she stood in one great flowing motion, whinnying and bobbing her head up and down. She stood there, shaky and heaving, as Vincent slowly got out of her way. 

Avril, at the other end of the stall, shouted, "It's coming! Here it comes!" She stepped back from the mare also and watched as the foal's head followed its forelegs. "She's doing it, she's got it! Come and see!" 

Vincent smiled nervously, shook his head and demurred, "No, that's all right. I'll just stay where I am." 

"Vincent, come here! It's not every day a foal is born." Avril stomped firmly across the stall to where Vincent was plastered against the wall, grabbed his hand with her one semi-clean hand, and led him back to the gate. "Now just stand here and watch," she ordered him, not letting go of him. 

Vincent tried to look everywhere but THERE, but of course that was impossible, as there was nothing else to see but THAT, so he ended up looking and was enthralled and amazed by the birth. Although he knew that horses were soulless creatures, he was still struck by the miracle of their life and creation. To witness a birth was to witness the hand of God. How could Avril work so intimately with these animals day in and day out and not believe in God? Vincent quickly corrected himself; he didn't know that she didn't believe in God. She had made it clear enough that she didn't believe in organized religion, but they had never gotten as far as the question of God. He made a mental note to bring it up sometime. Vincent was aware of Avril's warm, moist hand holding his and felt a special connection to her, one which went beyond the excitement of the night's events. He squeezed her hand and looked down at her, smiling benevolently. Like my little sister, he thought affectionately. 

Avril glanced up at Vincent and returned his smile, but quickly returned her attention to the horses. Finally, suddenly, in a slither of legs and water, the foal was born. It landed soundlessly on the straw and sawdust and lay there in a steaming heap. It was breathing. From outside, they could hear the sound of an approaching car. 

Avril dropped Vincent's hand and clasped her hands to her chest, in awe. She had tears in her eyes. "Would you look at that," she whispered. 

Vincent put his arm around her shoulder. "Congratulations," he croaked through the tightness in his throat. He squeezed her shoulder and kissed her on the temple, as it seemed to him an appropriate thing to do. 

Avril started slightly away at that, but didn't have a chance to say anything as Siobhan appeared in the doorway. She was still dressed for a night out, so clearly she hadn't wasted any time in getting to the stables. She hurried in and went directly over to the foal, whose mother was already nuzzling it. 

"Looks like I got here just in time," she said, ruining her pants as she knelt down to get a better look at the little horse. 

"Well we could have used you about half an hour ago," began Avril accusatorily, but then softened. "But me and Father Sheahan stood in as best we could." 

"Father Sheahan?" Siobhan glanced back at Vincent, surprised. "I didn't know you knew anything about animal husbandry." 

"Just followed orders," he protested. He smiled at Avril to acknowledge her wisdom, but she was directing her attention to Pilgrim's Progress and her baby. 

"I was wondering what was going on over here. You left me dangling, you know," Siobhan said, also turning back to the horses. 

Siobhan began asking Avril about the progress of the labor and what she had done, all the while ministering to the foal. Vincent felt that his presence was no longer needed, so he backed stealthily out of the stall and headed back to the apartment. 

Once inside, he went straight to the shower for a quick rinse and changed his clothes. Then, aware that he would need to be getting up again in about three and a half hours, he went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of warm milk. 

He stood next to the stove, watching the milk heat up in the pan, and relived the night's events in his mind. He admired Avril's quick thinking and authoritative attitude. She recognized when something needed to be done, and so she charged in and did something, anything, and due to her common sense it usually turned out to be the right thing. She had shown the same qualities in her decision to buy the yard, and in running The Cat at Wexmore. Tonight had been another case in point. 

Relationships with people, though, were clearly a weak point for her. It was a shame that her drinking had broken up her marriage. At least that was her story. Vincent wasn't sure if there wasn't something more to it than that. She swore herself that she had been dry for three years, but she still was quick to lash out at people in anger. Vincent wondered if that had always been part of her personality, or if it had only developed in response to her experiences with alcoholism and divorce. He thought of the incidents he knew of. She had verbally attacked him once, out of the blue, venomously calling him "transparent, or just plain shallow." During his brief visit to Ballykissangel, her ex-husband Garrett had attempted to reconcile with her, at least to the point of friendship, and she had rebuffed him harshly. And that was before she had known about Rosie. Rosie. The hatred and bile that welled up in Avril whenever that topic was brought up made Vincent wince inwardly. It hurt him to think of those terrible feelings twisting Avril's heart. She clearly was not ready for forgiveness. Maybe she would need to forgive herself first. 

Outside, Avril leaned back against the cool plaster of the stall wall. She was about to rub her eyes when she realized how very dirty her hands were. She settled for wiping her face on her shoulder. She had brought a big bucket of fresh water for the mare, who had greedily slurped up most of it. Siobhan was giving the mare a vitamin shot, but it looked like both animals were no worse for their ordeal. 

She closed her eyes and went over what had gone on that evening. She couldn't blame Corry for not having noticed that Pilgrim's Progress had gone into labor. The mare might well have been standing very still if she was resting between contractions when he had last checked on her. She only blamed herself for not personally checking earlier. Then maybe she could have reached Siobhan before she went out. She realized she might have acted rashly by attempting to aid the delivery herself, but she had seen such a maneuver done before (albeit with the aid of a rope and a curious metal contraption for traction), and she had simply been unable to sit idly by. As it turned out, Siobhan thought that it probably could have waited until she arrived, as the mare didn't seem to have lost too much blood, and the foal didn't seem to be in any more distress than an uneventful birth would have caused. But then hindsight has 20/20 vision. 

She was glad that Father Sheahan had been there, both for his company and moral support, and for his physical presence and strength. She certainly wouldn't have been able to do what she had done without him. She opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. God, everything would have been fine if only he hadn't pulled that move at the end. She realized now how often they had been in close physical proximity, even contact, for the past couple of hours, but at the time she had thought nothing of it, engrossed as she had been in her work. It had been nothing more than an incidental side effect of what needed to be done. But she reviled at the memory of his lips brushing her skin. That had certainly not been incidental. How dare he take advantage of the situation like that! On the other hand, she understood how someone could see it as a fatherly gesture. Is that how he had meant it? Avril frowned and squeezed her eyes shut. 

Vincent yawned and jiggled the pan. He was getting tired and his thoughts were no longer clear. He allowed his mind to wander to the moments of physical contact that had occurred between the two of them in the stall. He remembered the warmth and smoothness of Avril's pocket, the curve of her flesh on the other side of the denim. He remembered the sensation of her cotton T-shirt on his inner arms where they had touched her waist, the heat emanating from her body. He remembered the dampness on his elbows when he had placed them under her arms to encircle her chest, and he especially remembered the scent which hid in her hair. He knew he probably shouldn't, but he allowed himself one more memory, that of the full-length contact of his front with her back when he had slid forward against her on the floor of the stall. It had been accidental, and he had not dwelled on it at the time, but now as he looked back on it it seemed the most intimate moment of the entire night, even more so than the--to his mind--brotherly kiss he had given her, one which had seemed appropriate given the emotions and experiences they had shared. 

Avril accompanied Siobhan to the pump in the middle of the yard, where they both rinsed the worst of the mess from their hands and arms. They had strewn a few armloads of fresh straw on the floor of the stall, leaving the brunt of the cleanup until morning, when the workers would arrive. The foal was already making its first attempts at using its legs. And although it was her first offspring, Pilgrim's Progress did not seem spooked by the adventure, and was calmly regaining her strength. As they neared Avril's apartment, through the lighted windows they could see Father Sheahan enter the kitchen. 

"Good thing he happened to be here," Siobhan said, trying to hide her curiosity. 

"Who, Father Sheahan?" Avril scrubbed at her arm, shivering at the cold water she was splashing on. "Yes, it was," she answered noncommittally. 

"He's been making the rounds of the parish, so I hear," Siobhan said conversationally. 

"Well the bank threw him out on his ear with no notice, he has to sleep somewhere," she said self-evidently. 

"Well when you get tired of him, tell him he can come over to my place. I could use the babysitter. Or do you always come as a team?" Siobhan slyly referred to the evening at Brendan's house when Aisling had been left in Vincent's care. When Siobhan and Brendan had returned, they had come upon Vincent and Avril in a cozy position on the sofa. She still had received no explanation for that, either from Avril or from Vincent, and was still hoping for one, all the while giving them the benefit of the doubt. She remembered the case of Father Peter Clifford and the late Assumpta Fitzgerald, and wondered whether similar situations had occurred between them as well. It certainly hadn't all been innocent, judging from Father Clifford's reaction on Assumpta's death and his abrupt departure immediately afterward. 

Avril didn't really want to respond to Siobhan, since she knew what she was getting at and didn't appreciate the innuendo. After all, really nothing at all had happened that evening. They hadn't even so much as shaken hands. She didn't understand herself why Father Sheahan had let her fall asleep next to him in front of the fire. But now another idea dawned on her, in light of what had happened tonight. Maybe he had feelings for her and was trying to find ways to be close to her while staying strictly within the limits of his vow of chastity. Maybe that was why he had stayed on so long at her place after only spending a night or two each at Kathleen's, Brendan's, and Frankie's. Well, less than a night at Frankie's. She had kicked him out to make room for Dr. Ryan in the jail cell, and he had had to spend the rest of the night in an open field. Not that he had made any inappropriate moves or comments since he had been staying with her, as she fairly admitted. 

"I'll let him know, Siobhan," Avril finally responded, flatly. 

They finished their crude washing up, and Avril accompanied Siobhan to her car. "I'll be back first thing in the morning to see how they're getting on," Siobhan promised as she put her vet's bag into the back of the car. 

"Thanks, Siobhan. I really appreciate it," Avril said sincerely. She stood in the middle of the yard and watched the lights of Siobhan's car disappear around the curve. Then she headed grimly toward her apartment. She had decided that something needed to be done; she couldn't just let the situation continue as it was. She felt as if he were taking something from her that she hadn't offered. 

Vincent shook his head and removed the pan from the heat. The milk was already steaming. Now he'd have to let it cool off a little. He poured it into a mug and sat down at the table. He was already feeling sleepy and wondered if it wouldn't be better to go straight back to bed now, rather than wait to drink the milk. 

Just then, Avril returned. She had removed her boots outside the door and stalked down the hall into the kitchen in her stocking feet. 

Vincent looked up at her and asked with genuine interest, "How's the foal?" 

Avril brushed off the question with a cursory answer, "Fine, they're both fine." She stood on the other side of the table with her hands on her hips and stared at Vincent as if he were a two-headed pygmy. 

It finally dawned on him that Avril might have a bone to pick with him, although he couldn't for the life of him think of what that bone might be. "What?" he finally demanded innocently. 

"What was that back there?" 

Vincent shook his head and smiled politely, "Scuse me?" He tried to think, but his mind was just too fuzzy. Had he not responded quickly enough to her commands back there? Was she referring to his fumbling attempt to get the mare to stand? 

"You know what I mean," she insisted. It really fueled her anger that he was playing it this way. 

Vincent felt his sleepiness receding and being replaced by mild annoyance. "I'm sorry, I really don't." 

"In the stall, just after the foal was born, you kissed me," she accused him. 

Vincent scoffed, "Oh come on Avril, that was no kiss." 

"Lips, contact, kiss," she declared, jabbing at the air with one finger to emphasize her words. 

He tried to be reasonable. "You know me, I'm a priest, you've got to know that's not what was meant." He didn't really want to get pulled into a discussion right now, and hoped desperately that she would see reason and drop it. 

"If I was a Catholic priest, I wouldn't go around kissing women like that," Avril said haughtily. 

Now he was insulted, and answered her with sarcasm, "Oh no? Well tell me, how would you go around kissing women then?" 

Avril saw the opening and let her emotions blindly answer, "Like this," placed both hands flat on the table, leaned across it, and kissed Vincent on the mouth.   



	2. Knock and It Shall Be Opened Unto You

Vincent and Avril

Chapter 2

"Knock and It Shall Be Opened Unto You"

by Margaret Pattison

  
It was raining. It was raining the way it rains on the west coast of Ireland, with buffets of wind, waves of rain, and a grayness that makes even the brilliant green of the rolling hills turn dull and drab. Father Vincent Sheahan wandered past the steamed-up storefront display windows, behind which many of the more casual tourists had sought refuge from the downpour. On a more pleasant day, he would have found the colorful variety of religious and pseudo-religious memorabilia amusing, but today it all seemed cheap and depressing. Virgin Mary cuckoo clocks, plastic vials of holy water labeled "I Prayed For You at Knock", water-filled glass balls with a figure of the Holy Mother of God inside that snowed when you shook them and played "Ave Maria" when you wound them up, was this what Catholicism was about to the pilgrims? Vincent took some satisfaction in noting that business was none too brisk today, although he suspected that if the weather were more conducive to a stroll, even the New Age-style establishment boasting tie-dyed scarves and energy-channelling crystals would be turning a profit. Hell, probably more than the dark, stuffy Ma and Pa shop with the rosaries. Who needed prayer when you could tap directly into the universe simply by strategically placing stones about your person? 

He was ostensibly looking for a souvenir for Avril, but he was vacillating on whether to bring back anything at all. After what had happened the night before, the margin for misinterpretation now was rather large. He didn't want her to take anything the wrong way. What would he be signalling now by bringing her back a present, as he had promised to do earlier in the evening, before everything had gone so wrong? He hoped to let her know that he wanted things to return to the way they had been; he wasn't sure if that was possible now, though. Well, anything was possible, but not likely, given Avril's predilection for holding a grudge. He wasn't actually sure of her mood, as he had gotten up and left this morning before Avril had even been awake, in order to join the group from St. Joseph's on the bus to Knock. At least he had been able to catch up on his sleep during the journey, leaving Paddy O'Connell to lead the recitation of the Joyful Mysteries of the Rosary. He had certainly gotten very little rest the night before, having first been interrupted in order to aid in the delivery of the foal, and later having been unable to drop off again due to the whirl of thoughts, impressions, and reproaches that had filled his head. 

Vincent found that he had stopped in front of a window displaying statuettes, some religious, some patriotic, some humorous, and some he wasn't sure where to place. He found himself sorely tempted by a Virgin Mary sporting a T-shirt with the inscription, 'Kiss Me I'm Irish!' Under different circumstances, he actually would have bought it, but now he thought it would be in the poorest taste. 

Why had Avril kissed him as she did? The only thing that was fairly clear to him was that it had been done more in anger than in affection. He attempted to replay the scene in his mind, to see if he could divine any rhyme or reason to her actions. Avril had once said to Vincent that men and women were different species and invited him, "Care to enlighten me on your sex?" after she had apparently had a run-in of sorts with Edso. Now he could pose her the very same question. Women were unfathomable. 

Back in Ballykissangel, Avril mercifully didn't have much time to spend thinking about herself or Father Sheahan. Although he, and the events of the previous night, had been the first things to occupy her mind when she awoke (as indeed they had been the subject of her fitful and restless thoughts during the tedious hours before dawn), she quickly sorted herself out and turned her entire attention to the new filly. As the stable hands arrived for work, they gathered excitedly around Pilgrim's Progress's stall, and she had to tell and re-tell the story of the harrowing delivery. Siobhan arrived shortly and gave them all a lesson in umbilical cord care and instructions on what to watch for in the two animals over the next few days. Avril was glad for the distraction, as she was not feeling particularly self-congratulatory that morning. 

Once things had settled down a bit, Avril and Siobhan withdrew to Avril's office to take care of the paperwork. Avril had had the necessary forms at the ready, already half filled out by the owner, in anticipation of the birth, but in her haphazard search for her cell phone the night before, she had pushed many of the papers from her desk to the floor, and since then done no more to restore order than to heap everything into a single pile. Now she had to sit down and take the time to sort through things again. 

"Have a seat, Siobhan, this might take a few minutes," she said, plopping down onto her desk chair and picking up the untidy stack of papers from the floor. Several slipped out of place and fluttered to the floor again. 

"Not a problem. I reckon you got into a bit of an uproar last night," Siobhan smirked, leaning over to pick up the stragglers. 

Avril accepted the loose papers from Siobhan and gave her a tight smile. "Just a bit. Everything's under control." 

Siobhan took a seat at the kitchen table and inquired conversationally, "How's Father Sheahan this morning? Has he found a new vocation as midwife?" 

Avril responded coolly, "I don't really know." She balanced the stack on her knees and quickly leafed through it. 

"Hightailed it out of here before he could be drafted for duty again?" Siobhan joked, not letting loose. 

Avril felt forced to respond. She looked up from the papers to Siobhan and explained steadily, "He left early this morning to accompany a group of pilgrims up to Knock. I haven't had a chance to talk to him yet." 

"Well when you do see him, you'll be sure to mention about coming over to my place for a couple of days, won't you?" 

"Look, Siobhan, why don't you ask him yourself if you're so keen on having him?" Avril stood up and slammed the stack of papers down on the table in front of Siobhan. "I'm late for a practice session," she blurted out as she brushed past Siobhan and stalked out of the kitchen. 

Why wouldn't people just leave her alone, thought Avril as she strode across the yard. She knew that Siobhan was curious about her and Father Sheahan, just as the rest of the town was. She had heard the insinuations made both behind her back and to her face whenever she went into town, to say nothing of the curious looks she got from the stable hands, owners and riders. The worst, though, was whenever someone had to come into her office. They would look around surreptitiously (or so they thought), apparently for evidence of an intimate relationship. What did they expect to find? Vincent's underwear draped over the back of a chair? Framed photographs of the two of them in compromising positions? Avril recalled one time, before Father Sheahan had even moved in, when Edso had visited. 

He had picked up a book that Father Sheahan had left on the kitchen table, quite accidentally (although was it really an accident? Avril now considered to herself). Edso had been curious and asked, "You taken up religion?" 

Avril had denied it offhandedly, thinking nothing further of it. "Oh that. God no." 

But Edso had not been satisfied with her denial, going so far as to open the book and snoop around for evidence...of what? Avril wasn't sure, but she thought he already then had had the notion that she was involved in some way with the priest. Edso had apparently found what he was looking for, for he had emitted a satisfied "Ah," indicating that his suspicions had been confirmed. 

At the time, Avril had of course been in the dark, and had asked, "What do you mean, 'ah'?" 

Edso had simply responded, "I don't mean anything, just 'ah.' I understand, it's the priest's." 

Avril had immediately gone on the defensive and challenged him, "Yeah what of it?" 

Edso had then innocently protested, "I'm not making nothing of it," and that had been true. He had dropped the subject completely and let it go at that. At least he had that much respect for her. But Avril knew that Edso had made something of it to himself. She could sense his disapproval and jealousy. She knew that Edso had feelings for her himself (or at least that he wanted to get into her bed), but that didn't give him the right to jump to conclusions that weren't there. 

Avril's natural defiant nature had allowed her, even obliged her, to ignore the gossip and innuendo, but now she felt there might actually have been something to it, at least on Vincent's part, and that made her want to run away from everything, just to get on The Cat's back and run and run and run, over the fields, through the gorse and heather, past the hedges and rocks and trees, until her fingers were stiff from gripping the reins, her toes numb from pressing them into the toes of her riding boots, her skin wet from the rain that began to fall like a pervasive cloak, pressing itself into her breeches, gloves, and jacket, and The Cat's sides were heaving and steaming. Then she stopped. She felt thirsty. It was the same thirst she forced herself to suppress every day, but today it nagged at her more than usual. She looked around. Not a soul in sight. She was alone, and she felt lonely. She dismounted and began to walk The Cat back toward the yard. 

Vincent hurried back toward the National Marian Shrine in the center of the town. He glanced longingly at the beautiful gardens surrounding the building, but a meditative stroll on a day like today was out of the question. Inside, the church was tropical with the steaming jackets and dripping umbrellas of the couple of thousand pilgrims who had had the misfortune to book their trip for today. Vincent quickly found his group at the rendezvous they had agreed upon and they took stock of the situation. They had already heard Mass read upon their arrival this morning, and then most of them had performed the Stations of the Cross in the Basilica of Our Lady Queen of Ireland before breaking for lunch. They decided to visit the local folk museum in order to get some air, before returning for confession and recitation of the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary. They wanted to be ready for the 3:00 pm Concelebrated Mass with Anointing of the Sick. 

Vincent felt duty-bound to accompany the group to the museum, although his heart wasn't really in it. For that matter, his heart hadn't really been in the Mass they had participated in this morning, nor in the Stations of the Cross, but those were things he could do in his sleep. Things he had done in his sleep. Back at the seminary, he and the other seminarians had had to practice saying Mass for hours on end. And since a priest has to say Mass before a congregation, they had taken turns playing congregation for one another, nodding off between responses, and even during responses. They hadn't thought of that as disrespectful, necessarily (not most of them, anyway, although Luigi Petronelli had had the most annoying technique of raising his stentorous voice to the decibel level of a DC-10 revving its engines whenever he noticed one of his "parishioners'" attention wandering). 

In fact, one of the attractions of the Catholic ritus for Vincent was the hypnotic effect of the eternal repetitions, which led his mind into a trance-like meditative torpor. It could peel away the impurities of the mundane world, sharpening his intuition and awareness of the Almighty. He had found early on that if he tried to concentrate on the meaning of the individual words, his mind became bogged down and lethargic. But today he was simply so preoccupied with his own thoughts and the problems of that one particular parishioner that he couldn't surrender himself to the influence of the spirit. 

He did think of Avril as a parishioner, even though she wasn't a church-goer. He considered himself the spiritual shepherd for every person living within the boundaries of his parish, which didn't mean that he had to turn everyone into a dyed-in-the-wool Catholic, but rather that he would do his best to alleviate the burdens of their souls and show them the way to the fold. Whether they accepted his help or not, whether they followed him or not, was a matter of their own conscience. At least that's what he aimed for in theory. When it came to individuals like Avril Burke, he got thrown for a loop. 

Everything had seemed to be going so well between them, Vincent thought. Avril had started opening up to him about her past, about her drinking and her relationship with her ex-husband. They hadn't been able to discuss her sister yet, but Vincent had hoped that would come soon. She had so much anger in her, which she wasn't able to let go of yet. Vincent wondered if that might have been some of what had spilled over onto him last night. 

He couldn't really think of a concrete reason for her to have suddenly gotten so angry at him. She had said that it was the kiss he had placed on the side of her forehead, but that had really been quite chaste. Hadn't it? He examined his own motivation. He had felt close to her last night, certainly, both physically and emotionally, the closest he had ever felt to her. But it hadn't induced any sexual feelings in him. It had been more of a deliciously comfortable warmth, the kind of feeling he had had as a child when his grandfather would invite him to sit on his lap to tell him a story. Or when his mother would take him outside on a chilly, clear autumn evening, encircle him in her arms and point out the constellations of the southern sky. He had felt loved, wanted, cherished, safe, sated, happy. Did he really hold Avril in such high esteem as he did his grandfather and mother? he wondered with sudden alarm. Did she really provide those things for him? If so, maybe he really was getting too close to her. Well, not usually, he admitted with bittersweet relief, but last night had been special. They had worked together to achieve a critical success, and at the end he had been so full of joy that he had felt impressed to share that joy with Avril. That had been the source of the kiss from his end. So while it was, technically, chaste, that is, not infused with any sexual motive, it did have at its root what some might call love. 

Avril had called Siobhan upon returning to the yard, in order to apologize for her abrupt departure earlier. Siobhan had been gracious and asked if she wanted to get together to talk about things. Avril was tempted to agree, but didn't feel comfortable about discussing Father Sheahan with anybody. And Father Sheahan--Vincent--was the problem. 

How did she really feel about him? She had been so focussed on analysing his behaviour and motives that she had neglected to take a look at her own. Well, not neglected. More like avoided. She admitted she was afraid of what she would discover. She couldn't afford to fall for a priest. That was just asking for her heart to be broken again. 

Maybe his kiss had really been just what it was billed as: a paternal (or filial, he wasn't that old) gesture of congratulations. But what about hers? She had kissed him hard, full on the lips, emotionally, but without malice aforethought. She had acted on instinct, prompted by the anger that had welled up in her when he had insisted on denying her accusations. But what instinct was that? Her normal mode of attack was verbal. What had caused her to use a symbol of love as a weapon? For that was how she had thought of it at the time, as a weapon to show Vincent how it felt to be used as an object of affection without permission. But now, when she thought about the kiss again, she didn't remember the anger. She remembered the slightly ridged texture, the firmness and the fullness of his lips, the scratch of his beard on the tender skin around her mouth. And the taste. It had not tasted like anything in particular, just like Vincent. Avril felt a pang of that familiar thirst again, but this time it was not for alcohol. It was for the taste of Vincent on her lips. 

Vincent led the recitation of the Glorious Mysteries of the Rosary on the way back to Ballykissangel. He felt more at peace now that he had made some decisions, based on his insights. He sat back in his seat, watching the lights of the distant houses floating in the darkness. He fingered the beads in his jacket pocket. He had settled on a plain wooden rosary for Avril, something that expressed the simplicity and openness that he wished for, as well as the primacy of his religious calling and his hope that she could find release from her torment through prayer. 

When Vincent finally arrived back at Avril's place, it was after midnight. They had stopped for dinner on the way back, and Vincent had felt a real sense of community among the pilgrims. He was glad the others' spirits hadn't been dampened by the foul weather. On the contrary, they had brought sunshine to his own heart. He had also stopped by Fitzgerald's to find out if there was a room available yet. This time, there was, and he had asked Óonagh to get it ready for him while he went to retrieve his things. 

When he drove into the yard, he saw that the apartment was dark. So much the better. He didn't want to have a confrontation now, although he hoped that they would be able to talk in the light of day. He tried the door and found it unlocked. He wondered whether Avril had simply forgotten to lock up, or if she had left it open for him on purpose, as a gesture of good will. 

He entered the apartment as quietly as possible and felt his way through the darkened living room into the guest room. He closed the door and flipped on the light, squinting while his eyes adjusted to the light. He quickly stuffed his belongings into his rucksack and gathered up his leather jacket and sleeping bag, then turned off the light again, opened the door, and carefully made his way back to the outer door. He went out to the car and dumped his things onto the passenger seat, then went back inside. He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out the rosary and the card he had written, and laid them on the kitchen table. Now that he had been made aware of it, he could smell the scent that lingered in Avril's hair, ever so faintly, hanging in the air. He hesitated but a moment, then turned and walked back out to his waiting car. 


	3. Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Vincent and Avril Chapter 3 "Breaking Up Is Hard To Do" by Margaret Pattison  
  
Avril awoke with a start. It was well past dawn. She was disoriented for a moment. She had been dreaming that she was being crucified and could still hear the Roman centurion hammering the nails into her flesh. She sat up and rubbed her arms. What time was it? Why was that hammering still going on? She finally realized that it was someone knocking at the door. Or rather pounding. She stumbled out of bed and quickly padded across the chilly flagstone floor, neglecting even to pull on a dressing gown over her tank top and bikini briefs. Maybe something was wrong with the new filly...or one of the other horses, she quickly added.  
  
"Avril!" a voice was shouting on the other side of the door. She couldn't place the voice right away, but it did sound familiar.  
  
Avril unlatched the door and flung it open. Outside was a small clutch of people dressed in riding helmets, jackets, breeches, and boots. Her jumpers! Damn, it was Saturday. She became acutely aware that they were staring at her own clothing, or lack thereof. She decided to brazen it out.  
  
"What?" she demanded impatiently, as if she had been in the middle of something extremely important that she needed to get back to immediately.  
  
"It's 7:40," one of the female riders finally ventured.  
  
"I know that," Avril replied testily. "I just forgot it was Saturday, that's all," she finished somewhat sulkily.  
  
"We didn't interrupt you at anything, did we?" one of the other riders inquired just a little too innocently.  
  
Avril did not dignify that with a reply. "I'll be out in five minutes," she responded flatly, then closed the door. She leaned back against the door for a moment and closed her eyes, silently cursing her own stupidity. She shook her head and walked to the bathroom. She must have slept right through the alarm. No wonder, given that she had gone around 40 hours on next to no sleep. When she came out of the bathroom, she glanced at Vincent's room. The door was ajar. He must have been up and about early this morning. She hadn't heard him come in last night, either. Well, she didn't have time to think about him now. She quickly went to her room and pulled on a pair of breeches and a shirt, then into the kitchen for a big gulp of orange juice and a couple of biscuits. Not her usual breakfast, but she knew she'd need the sugar if she didn't want to get lightheaded. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Vincent had left a rosary lying on the table. He must have been in a hurry this morning. She grabbed her jacket and helmet from their hooks by the door and went back outside to pull on her boots and face the music.  
  
She knew what they were thinking: that she and Vincent had been otherwise occupied. Well let them think what they wanted. She didn't owe any explanations to anyone. Except maybe herself.  
  
Vincent was enjoying Oonagh's full Irish breakfast. Nothing beat good home cooking in the morning. Or at any other time of the day. He thought back to Father Nolan, his old parish priest in Broken Hill. He had had a great set-up. A roomy old house overlooking the wooded cemetery, a live-in housekeeper, and a secretary at the church. He hadn't had to worry about where he would eat his next meal or whether he had any clean socks or whether he had scheduled catechism instruction for the same time as confession. Vincent considered whether he should take on a housekeeper. Someone like...Kathleen? He shuddered. But first things first. He would need a house. He was getting a little weary of the constant change of venue.  
  
"Hey Oonagh," he called over into the kitchen.  
  
Oonagh popped her head out and asked with a smile, "Can I get you anything else, Father?"  
  
"No, thanks, it's great," he smiled appreciatively. "No, I was just wondering if there was any news on the curate's house."  
  
Oonagh shook her head ruefully and answered, "Paul's been breaking his back trying to find out who bought it. It's still standing empty."  
  
Vincent nodded, disappointed. He had hoped that it would be another absentee landlord who would be willing to lease the place back to him. Well, he thought, spearing the last bite of sausage, maybe it still would be. In the meantime, he thought he could get used to three square meals a day at the pub.  
  
After finishing breakfast, Vincent headed over to Hendley's Market. He wanted to catch up on the latest news, both from the newspapers and from the horse's mouth. And to make sure he wasn't the topic.  
  
Inside, Kathleen was stocking the shelves as usual. Did she really have such a high turnover? Well, this was the only market in town, Vincent reminded himself. Now there would be an opening for a young entrepreneur.  
  
"Morning, Kathleen," he greeted her.  
  
Kathleen glanced over at Vincent and nodded politely. "Morning, Father."  
  
Vincent sensed that she had been cooler toward him ever since he had moved out of her house. Well, that was to be expected. He certainly hadn't wanted to hurt her feelings, but there had really been no nice way to explain why he was leaving. Brendan's suggestion that Vincent say he wanted to "spread himself around," that "it wouldn't be fair" to spend all his time with just one parishioner, was a white lie that Vincent had used with a twinge of conscience. Wouldn't it have been better to just tell her the truth, that he didn't feel comfortable there? Because he felt sure that Kathleen knew that was the real reason. She was a wise woman. Vincent vowed to be more charitable toward her.  
  
He went over to the newsrack and picked up the Wicklow County People. Even though he frowned on their methods of reporting, it was a good source of information on local activities.  
  
Kathleen walked past Vincent toward the counter. "Did you enjoy your trip to Knock, Father?" she inquired conversationally.  
  
"What?" He looked up from a story on a horse that had fallen ill in the far north of the county. "Oh, yeah, yeah, it was inspiring," he assured her.  
  
"It's one of my favorite places," she informed him as she took her place behind the counter. "So beautiful," she added dreamily, gazing off into the distance.  
  
Vincent replaced the newspaper on the top of the stand. "Why didn't you join us?" he asked kindly.  
  
Kathleen raised her eyebrows at him and gave him a sharp look. "And who, may I ask, would have minded the store?"  
  
Vincent grinned. "Right you are, Kathleen." He turned his attention back to the newsrack and picked up the racing form.  
  
Kathleen watched him for a moment, then commented primly, "I'd have thought you'd get enough of the horses out at Ms. Burke's place." She turned toward the door as it opened. "Good morning, Siobhan," she greeted the vet pleasantly.  
  
Vincent tore his attention away from his reading again. "What? Oh, I'm not staying there anymore," he said as coolly as possible, then looked back down at the paper, waiting for the next shoe to fall.  
  
Kathleen raised her eyebrows at this, but Siobhan spoke before Kathleen could make any pointed comments.  
  
"Morning, Kathleen. Morning, Father." Siobhan greeted both of them, walking over to the counter. "Not staying where?" she asked, glancing from Kathleen to Father Sheahan.  
  
Vincent folded the racing form under his arm and stepped over to the counter. Now was the time to put any rumours to rest. "A room finally opened up at Fitzgerald's."  
  
"Now isn't that lucky. For you." Kathleen managed to make it sound like Avril would be disappointed. Or like Vincent was getting out of the lion's den just in the nick of time.  
  
"Ah now Father. You haven't tried my hospitality yet," complained Siobhan. "Brendan told me how you were playing the itinerant preacher."  
  
"No, Siobhan, I couldn't," he protested. "You've got your hands full with your practice and the baby."  
  
"Now, I insist, Father. Otherwise I'll never know what I'm missing. Isn't that right, Kathleen?" she looked slyly at the shopkeeper while suppressing a smile.  
  
"It was certainly a pleasure having you, Father Sheahan." Kathleen looked down and smiled demurely. "Excuse me," she murmured, and walked back to her shelves.  
  
Siobhan shook her head and chuckled to herself, watching Kathleen go. Then she looked up at Vincent. "Now I can't offer you full board, but I guess you didn't get that at Avril's place either."  
  
"A place to rest my head would be plenty, Siobhan," Vincent assured her warmly. "But I'm fine at Fitzgerald's."  
  
"Didn't your mother teach you to say yes when someone offers to do you a favor? Or are you worried about what the gossips will say?" she teased him, cocking her head to one side and trying not to smile too broadly. She knew she had him backed into a corner.  
  
Vincent laughed nervously. What should he answer to that? Damn, but she knew how to manipulate him. Good thing she wasn't after anything. Or was she? Was he getting out of the frying pan into the fire? "OK, Siobhan, I'll be there after this afternoon's Mass," he agreed with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.  
  
"Make it early," Siobhan ordered. "Brendan and I want to make it to Cilldargan in time to have dinner before the movie starts." She clapped Vincent on the shoulder as she went past him to pick up her groceries.  
  
"Right," he agreed with a weak smile, his heart sinking. Babysitting again!  
  
Avril pushed the horses and riders hard that morning, but no one worked harder than she did. She was so angry with herself for having overslept. A bad impression was a lasting impression. She wanted the stables to be professional, strict, and competitive, and that had to start with her. How did it look to have her show up late to her own training session? If she had been late getting one of the horses to a race, the consequences would have been drastic.  
  
She realized how much she counted on the stable hands to do their part. She grudgingly had to admit that she even relied on them. It would be completely impossible for her to feed, water, groom, exercise, and clean up after all of the horses in her care. And that on top of ferrying horses to and from competitions, networking with owners, riders, and other stable owners, organizing veterinary care, running practice and training sessions, to say nothing of the neverending stream of paperwork. Who had time for a private life? Or sleep, for that matter? Avril figured the best way to get Vincent out of her mind, which was what she urgently needed to do, was to focus on her work, which is what she should have been doing anyway. Friends, and especially lovers, were nothing more than a nuisance and a distraction.  
  
After the session, Avril brushed The Cat down and saw to it that she was fed and watered. She was looking forward to a hot shower, a thick ham and cheese sandwich, and a cup of piping hot coffee herself. She stepped out of the stall into the yard, unfastened her helmet and pulled it off, allowing the light breeze to cool her head. The slate-gray clouds which had hovered ominously overhead earlier had lightened to a pearly off-white, removing the immediate threat of rain. Avril's dark hair, pulled back into a pony tail, lay flat and heavy on her scalp. She loosed her hair and shook it out, running her hand through her hair to allow the air access to her skin. She felt calmer and more light-hearted now. Spending time with animals, in a metier that she was expert in, had renewed her confidence. She strode across the yard with a bounce in her step. The sight of Father Sheahan wearing sweats, jogging into the yard from the direction of the road, caused her stomach to tighten momentarily, but she quickly recovered, nodded a greeting to him, and continued into the apartment, leaving the door open for him. She meant to be the first one into the shower.  
  
Vincent saw Avril walking purposefully toward the apartment. He was glad to catch her out of the saddle. He had run out to the stables from town in order to talk to her. But when she didn't stop to greet him, merely nodding and continuing into the apartment, he was slightly taken aback. Was she going to give him the cold shoulder? He wasn't sure whether he should try to talk to her now or give her some more time. But he also wanted to warn her about the sick horse up north. He noticed that she had left the door ajar. Maybe that was her way of inviting him in. He continued across the yard, registering from the corner of his eye that the stable hands and a group of riders standing around outside the stalls had stopped their conversation and were staring at him. He beamed broadly, waved, and called over to them, "Hi, how ya doing?" The riders quickly reconvened their huddle and talked among themselves. Only Eoin was considerate enough to return his greeting.  
  
Vincent skipped up the steps, knocked on the open door and called tentatively, "Avril?"  
  
She opened the bathroom door and stuck her head out. "Ladies first," she announced smugly and shut the door again before he had a chance to say anything. What did she mean by that? Vincent wondered. Did she mean that she wanted to take care of herself before giving him the time of day? He figured that was fair. It hadn't actually been very considerate of him to leave like that in the middle of the night, without talking things out with her first. But that's why he was here now. He heard the shower turn on. Well, he would wait then. He entered the house and closed the door.  
  
Vincent stood in the living room, his hands on his hips. He was still breathing hard from his run. Now that he had stopped moving and was out of the wind, he felt the perspiration gathering on his skin. He licked his salty upper lip and wished he had thought to bring a towel along. He was about to go into the kitchen for a glass of water when he remembered he didn't live here anymore. He didn't want to risk offending Avril by making himself too much at home.  
  
He turned around and studied the wall of the hallway leading into the kitchen. It was plastered with ribbons, medals and plaques, testifying of Avril's skill and dedication. There were also pictures of her with various racehorses, both standing alongside them and sitting astride them. Others showed Avril posing with famous figures from the racing world: jockeys, owners, managers. He recognized several of them, which said more about his own involvement and interest in racing than about Avril's connections.  
  
As his inspection of the trophies led him closer to the kitchen, something white on the kitchen table caught his eye. He looked more closely and recognized the card he had left there the night before, with the wooden rosary lying next to it. Had Avril not even seen them? It suddenly dawned on him that that might be the reason for her behavior. She was assuming that he was still living here.  
  
He stepped over to the table and picked up the card. It was unopened. He heard the shower turn off. Now what? Think fast, Vince, he said to himself. Should he pretend that he was just moving out now? Should he pocket the card and just offer her the rosary as a parting gift? How would she react now, with him breaking the news to her in person? Would her latent anger instinctively flare up again? On the other hand, maybe she would be relieved. Or not even care at all. Vincent realized that he was transferring his own feelings of regret and disappointment onto her. He was disappointed that things hadn't worked out smoothly, and he regretted having put his arm around Avril and kissing her the other night, not because of the motive behind it, but because he saw now how it could have been misinterpreted. He should have been more circumspect, especially knowing how Avril shied away from emotional intimacy. And apparently physical intimacy as well. He resolved to be completely honest with Avril, and not to hide behind half-truths which were meant to shield her from harm but would only end up insulting her intelligence in the end.  
  
He heard the bathroom door open. He stood in the middle of the kitchen and watched her approach, her wet hair curling down onto the shoulders of her bathrobe. Her face didn't change expression when she caught sight of him, and he found that disappointed him. Was everything really ruined between them?  
  
"It's all yours," Avril said neutrally. She concentrated on suppressing the thoughts that tried to occupy her mind at the sight of him out of uniform, standing in her kitchen, his skin glowing from the heat of his exertion. She avoided looking up at him as she neared him, but caught his scent, the same one she remembered tasting the other night. She gritted her teeth.  
  
"Um, about that, Avril," Vincent began hesitantly. He could tell that she was trying to keep her distance. He saw her jaw muscles bulge slightly. Was she biting back a hostile reply?  
  
On hearing his words, Avril was forced by common decency to look at him. She stopped just in front of him. It would be so easy to reach up and touch his cheek...She pulled her bathrobe closed around her neck and stared at him challengingly. She wouldn't let him get to her. Any more than she would let Garrett get to her any more. When he had visited, before she had known about...her...he had twice attempted to get close to her, to embrace her, but she had closed herself off and rebuffed him. Just seeing him again from a distance had been one thing, but to be that close to him again, to feel his physical presence, it had been too painful to know that he wasn't hers anymore. And afterwards, when she had found out, the thought of the two of them, together, it just...well, it made her physically ill.  
  
Vincent seemed to be searching for the right words. "Maybe this isn't the best time. Do you want to get dressed first?" he suggested.  
  
"Before what?" Avril was confused. Did they have an appointment or something? Had she forgotten that, too?  
  
"I'd like to talk to you," he finally said with compassion.  
  
Avril walked past him to the coffee maker and switched it on. She should have known this would be coming. Now he'd want to analyze everything. "I don't really have time," she said in an irritated tone. "I don't even have time to eat. Grainne will be here any minute for her riding lesson." She took down a plate and set it on the table. As she did so, she noticed the rosary again. "Is that yours?" she asked absentmindedly, already turning toward the fridge. Then she noticed the card also and stopped. She read her name on the envelope and picked it up.  
  
"It's for you. I brought it back from Knock," he explained solemnly.  
  
Avril looked at Vincent and saw the warmth in his eyes. She felt a tightness in her throat and a stinging in her nose. She quickly looked down at the table again before her eyes could start to water and picked up the rosary. The many smaller beads were of a dark reddish wood. She rolled them between her fingers. They felt smooth and silky. In the middle was a carved rosette surrounded by the words in Gaelic script, "Our Lady Queen of Ireland". It was plain, but in its plainness it was noble.  
  
"Why?" The word scratched out of Avril's throat. She swallowed and tried to clear her throat unobtrusively, keeping her eyes fixed on the rosary. She could feel her nose starting to run. Oh no you don't, don't start crying now, she willed herself.  
  
"Because I promised you," he replied simply.  
  
She nodded in response, then regained control. "It's nice," she commented and laid it carefully back on the table with the card. "Thanks." She sniffed deeply, went to the refrigerator and got out a packet of ham slices and a chunk of cheese, which she tossed onto the table. "Well what are you still standing there for?" she asked coldly, turning to the bread box for a couple of slices. "You've done your duty."  
  
"Avril," Vincent began, reaching out one arm toward her, but thinking better of it and letting his hand drop awkwardly onto the tabletop.  
  
Avril sat down and pretended to be very busy preparing her sandwich.  
  
"Avril, I've moved out," Vincent stated.  
  
Avril acknowledged this news by slapping a slice of ham onto the bread. She wasn't really surprised. You know it's better this way, she said to herself. "Back to Kathleen's, is it? Or will I be finding you under my hedges again?" she said coolly, with an edge of sarcasm. She reached behind herself for a knife from the sideboard.  
  
"I spent last night at Fitzgerald's, and I'll be at Siobhan's tonight. I wrote you a note," he explained, nodding at the card lying on the table.  
  
Avril sawed at the cheese, her rough motions causing her still damp hair to fall across her face. It's better this way, it's better this way, it's better this way, she repeated to herself, attempting to convince her heart of the truth.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I thought it would be better this way," he said sincerely.  
  
Avril snorted out a short laugh at that, as Father Sheahan echoed her own thoughts. She shook the hair back out of her face. "You're right, it is better this way," she said bitterly. But it wasn't what she wanted.  
  
"Avril," he began sympathetically. He didn't want to ruin all the progress she had made toward healing her soul.  
  
"No go on, you're right," she threw at him. "It was stupid of me in the first place." She arranged the cheese on top of the meat, shrugged and shook her head again in bitter amusement. "What was I thinking, having a priest under my roof? Now that everybody's had a good laugh at my expense, and yours too, I might add, we can get back to our respective vocations." She put the other slice of bread on top of the sandwich and picked it up. "No hard feelings, eh, Father?" She took a large bite, sat back in her chair, and looked around, avoiding Vincent's face.  
  
"Come on, Avril, let's not leave it this way," Vincent cajoled. He wanted to reach out to her, put his arm around her and give her a hug.  
  
Avril did not respond, but rather chewed her sandwich mercilessly, still keeping her gaze averted.  
  
"It's not like it was an easy decision for me," he continued. "I've enjoyed staying here. You're probably my best friend here."  
  
That goes for me, too, Avril thought, but she didn't trust her voice to speak it aloud. And anyway, why give him the satisfaction of admitting it?  
  
"And I'm not running away from you. I know what you did the other night wasn't a come on."  
  
Are you sure about that, Padre? Cause I'm not, she thought to herself.  
  
"Just like you know what I did wasn't a come on either. I just think we both need to take care of our own business for a while."  
  
Avril started to get fed up with Vincent's explanations. Doth he protest too much? "Hey, Father, come on, it was just a room," she chided him. "No sense dragging it out."  
  
The coffee machine hissed, indicating that the water was hot.  
  
"Yeah, right," he agreed with a small smile. Well, it hadn't really been just a room. But he sensed that this wasn't the right time to get into that. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, watching her get up to pour herself a cup. "Well, you know where to find me."  
  
"Yeah, sure, if the pope calls, I'll let him know," she rejoined sarcastically.  
  
"OK," he said uncomfortably. He tapped his fingers on the table in punctuation. He didn't really want to leave. Wasn't she going to offer him anything to drink? "Hey, something else," he changed the subject.  
  
Avril picked up her cup from the counter. Should she offer him some, too? Part of her wanted to, the part she was trying to ignore, but he was the one who was leaving, he was the one who had said that he wanted to take care of his own business, and she was afraid he would say no. Why give him an opening to reject her again? She sat down at the table and looked up at Vincent, silently daring him to say something.  
  
He said tentatively, "Um, I read there's a sick horse up in Ennisvalley. McKean's stables. Thought you might want to check it out."  
  
McKean. Avril knew him. One of his horses had been at the track where King Ransom had run last week. She filed the fact away and made a mental note to call him later. "Thanks," she said grudgingly.  
  
A familiar electronic tune began playing. The William Tell Overture. Vincent and Avril looked involuntarily at each other, the events of the night before last brought even more vividly to their minds. The last time they had heard that melody, Vincent had had to reach into Avril's back jeans pocket to retrieve her cell phone. Avril's stomach tightened at the memory of his hand on her and she looked quickly away toward the desk, where the phone was lying. She'd have to change that ring tone. She darted for the phone and pushed the receive button as quickly as possible.  
  
It seemed to be something about a delivery of feed that would be delayed. Avril started to get irate. Vincent took that as his cue to leave, remembering also that she had said Grainne would be arriving soon. He signalled to Avril that he was leaving, but mouthed to her, 'I'll see you,' while pointing at her with a questioning look on his face.  
  
Avril frowned, nodded and waved him away dismissively. He left and went back outside.  
  
As he closed the door behind himself, he saw Paul's station wagon pulling into the yard. He waved and walked over. As soon as the car stopped, Grainne hopped out and ran over to the stables, calling out a cheerful greeting over her shoulder.  
  
Vincent stood next to Paul's open window and they both watched Grainne, Paul with pride and Vincent with joy at her youthful exuberance.  
  
"She's a great kid, Paul," Vincent told him.  
  
"Yeah, I know," Paul agreed proudly.  
  
Vincent pointed toward Avril's apartment and said informatively, "Avril'll be out in a minute. She's just got to get dressed."  
  
Paul slowly turned his gaze from Grainne to Vincent, his smile turning into an expression of curious disbelief.  
  
Vincent felt Paul's eyes on him and suddenly realized how that must have sounded. He tried to correct himself by saying with an innocent laugh, "No no, not like that, no, she was just in the shower and then we--" but as he said the words he knew that didn't sound much better, so he gave it up, shaking his head and watching Grainne again. "Never mind." People were going to believe what they wanted to anyway.  
  
Paul asked nonchalantly, "The two of you resolve your quarrel then?"  
  
Vincent looked at Paul in confusion. "What?"  
  
Paul explained, "Oonagh says you'll be leaving us again? Coming back here?"  
  
Vincent found the direction of everyone's mind tiresome. "No, Paul," he explained with exaggerated patience, "I'll be staying at Siobhan's tonight. Babysitting. So keep that room free." He jogged away back toward the road.  
  
Paul called after him half-heartedly, "Hey Father, can I give you a lift someplace?"  
  
But Vincent just waved good-bye. 


	4. Feedback

Vincent and Avril Chapter 4 "Feedback" by Margaret Pattison  
  
The red Granada raced much too fast along the back roads of County Wicklow, spitting up gravel and leaving deep tracks in the grass along the roadside whenever it had to make room for oncoming traffic. The classic 8- track was blasting Manfred Mann's 54321, and it's illegal to shift below 3rd gear when that's playing. With all the subsidies they had gotten from the European Union, you'd think the Irish could have built roads wide enough for something larger than a bicycle and a mule to pass each other without one of them stopping. This car was built for speed and muscle, not for safety, and that's how it was being driven.  
  
Unfortunately, not all the denizens of the road that day shared the same motor aesthetic as the Granada's driver, and word soon found its way back to the office of Guard Frances (Frankie) Sullivan. When she heard the description of the car, she rolled her eyes. Would the man never learn? Probably intoxicated again. She gave herself a grim, thin-lipped stare as she adjusted her hat in front of the mirror, running her thumb and forefinger around the visor. So that woman had actually driven him to drink. Shame.  
  
Frankie didn't have to wait long before the Granada drove past where she was lying in wait. He was certainly predictable. Same spot as last time. As the car zoomed past, Frankie pulled out onto the road, turned on her patrol car's sound-and-light show and took up the pursuit. It didn't last long. The Granada slowed down and stopped at the side of the road moments later. Frankie grabbed the Breathalyzer and exited her vehicle, approaching the culprit with a stern expression and a lecture at the ready. As she came up on the driver's side, she saw that the window was already lowered, and she began her spiel. "All right, Father, I think you know the routine--," she began, but snapped her mouth shut and opened her eyes wide in surprise when she saw who was behind the wheel.  
  
Avril Burke looked gingerly up at Frankie with a sweet, guilty smile on her face. "Guard Sullivan," she said in a timid voice. "What seems to be the problem?"  
  
Naturally, the first thing that came to her mind was, What are you doing driving Father Sheahan's car around like you owned it and the rest of the County? But she didn't go down that road. Especially since his own boyish face came into view, leaning across Avril to gaze up at Frankie and fix her with his award-winning smile.  
  
"Frankie," he greeted her warmly. "Nice day for a drive, eh?" Frankie looked around skeptically. In fact, it wasn't, if you went by the paste- colored sky and the misty dampness that softened the outlines of the cars and trees. But maybe he was reckoning on a different basis altogether.  
  
Frankie decided to play it straight. "Are you aware of how fast you were going?" she demanded in a businesslike manner.  
  
Avril bit her lip, looked at Vincent, then back at Frankie with an apologetic shrug. "I guess I wasn't watching the speedometer. I was concentrating more on staying on the road." She turned to Vincent again and asked him innocently, "Did you see how fast we were going?"  
  
"Couldn't have been more than 50. Otherwise she'd never have made it out of that curve," Vincent chipped in helpfully.  
  
Avril nodded solemnly and looked back at Frankie with a straight face.  
  
Frankie rolled her eyes and chewed on the inside of her cheek. She cursed herself silently for not having clocked them as they went past. But then she had assumed it was Father Sheahan with the lead foot. She had kind of been looking forward to watching him squirm. Serve him right for having been so scarce lately. Oh well, might as well get on with it. She sighed and ordered Avril, "Step out of the car, please."  
  
Avril unbuckled her seat belt, opened the car door, and stepped out onto the road. She pulled down on her tight black pullover and tugged at the thighs of her form-fitting jeans, then pushed her hands into her front pockets and waited. Frankie had to admit that Avril was an attractive woman, even though she wasn't wearing make-up and her dark hair fell in unkempt waves around her face. Was this what Father Sheahan was spending his spare time gallivanting about with?  
  
Frankie felt a twinge of jealousy. She and the Father had been getting on so well, informally investigating cases together. She thought she had finally found a buddy here in this backwater, another outsider dedicated to his work. But she'd barely seen hide nor hair of him for the past couple of weeks, not since she had had to turn him out of the cell in order to interrogate Doc Ryan. Maybe she should have offered him the sofa instead of putting him out onto the street. She had to admit she'd been too caught up in the excitement of a potential drug bust to think of such niceties. Maybe if she had, Father Sheahan would have never ended up being Avril's houseguest. She had heard that he had moved into Fitzgerald's. She wondered what had been (or was still?) going on between them, and she knew she wasn't the only one. On the other hand, she had scrupulously kept her mouth shut whenever the topic of Avril and the curate came up. She knew firsthand how damaging gossip could be to a reputation.  
  
Frankie glanced across the top of the car at Father Sheahan, who was resting his square chin on his fists against the door frame and watching the two women with an expression of amusement. She pressed her lips together and returned her attention to Avril. They held each other's gaze steady. Frankie tried to gauge the other woman's motives. She had always seemed a level-headed enough sort. What could she possibly hope to accomplish by taking up with a priest? Benefit of the doubt, Guard Sullivan, she reminded herself. Although she was sure they had hardly been discussing the next church picnic.  
  
Frankie took a step closer to Avril. She didn't smell of alcohol, and her brown eyes seemed clear and lively. Still, she was associating with a known alcoholic and had been driving erratically. She held the Breathalyzer out in front of Avril. "Blow into this please," she requested in the clipped tone she used when she suspected resistance ahead.  
  
Avril gave a short, incredulous laugh. "What, you think I've been driving drunk?" She turned to Vincent. "Do you believe this? Tell her I haven't been drinking."  
  
Vincent shrugged impartially. "Those things are notoriously unreliable." He winked and grinned at Frankie. "Isn't that right, Frankie?"  
  
Frankie gave Vincent a cold stare. He should be one to talk. She had caught him red-handed (or rather red-eyed), and the Breathalyzer had delivered a valid result. She jabbed the Breathalyzer closer to Avril's face. "Just blow," she said tiredly. "If you haven't had anything, it will hardly give a positive result. If, on the other hand, you have been drinking," she looked sideways at Vincent, "then, yes, there is a certain margin of error." She gave Vincent a small, chilly smile. "But that's what the blood test is for. To exonerate the innocent. Isn't that right, Father?"  
  
"That or an act of grace," he noted, catching Frankie's eye.  
  
Frankie got the hint. She realized that he knew that she had used her own discretion to let him off the hook. The blood test had been positive by .01 percent. Good. Then he also knew that he owed her one. Big time. She turned back to Avril with the hint of a smile on her face, exhaled sharply through her nose and asked, "So what'll it be? Blow or bleed?"  
  
Avril took a deep breath, leaned over and blew daintily into the straw. Frankie held the instrument up to read the result, keeping her face studiously blank of expression as she said, "Well. Looks like you haven't been drinking. Didn't really think you had."  
  
"What about me? Don't I get a turn?" teased Vincent.  
  
Frankie stuffed the Breathalyzer into her pocket and eyed Vincent from under the brim of her hat. Now he was just making fun of her. "Not necessary, Father Sheahan. But I have gotten reports of this car being driven in a reckless manner," she continued warningly. "This is a public thoroughfare, not a race course."  
  
"Absolutely," agreed Avril readily, nodding her head emphatically. She raised her first three fingers in the scout salute. "No racing."  
  
"All right then," Frankie said reluctantly. She couldn't think of a reason to keep them any longer.  
  
Vincent slapped the top of the car. "Thanks, Frankie," he said, flashing her one of his high-charm smiles before disappearing into the car again.  
  
Avril looked questioningly at Frankie. "Is that all?"  
  
Frankie toyed with the idea of making a parting comment on their irregular pairing, but was able to restrain herself, despite the satisfaction it would have given her. "That's all. For now," she ended ominously.  
  
Avril quickly returned to her seat, pulled the seat belt across her chest, and waited until the patrol car drove off out of sight. Then she turned to Vincent, her dark eyes flashing the first sign of fury. "Did you see that?" she demanded indignantly. "Thought I'd been drinking and driving."  
  
Vincent's eyes remained on the spot where the police car had gone out of his field of vision. "She was just doing her job," he remarked patiently. Then he glanced at Avril with laughing eyes and reminded her gently, "And she didn't issue a citation, which she could very well have, given the speed you had on back there."  
  
Avril tossed her hair back and rejoined haughtily, "I only had you egging me on."  
  
Vincent protested good-naturedly, "Hey, I just pointed out the potential. You're the one who opened her up."  
  
Avril flicked her gaze at Vincent, then quickly looked back out the window and smiled. She still couldn't look him in the eye, but at least she didn't feel like a complete fool in his presence any more. She had nearly botched up their friendship, but thanks to Vincent's persistence and genuinely caring nature, they had managed to get past the awkwardness that they certainly both had felt immediately after Vincent had moved out. She still wasn't sure what to do about what were clearly feelings of affection that she had for him, but she thought the best thing was to try to ignore them, put them in the same place as her feelings for Garrett, and get on with her business. That would be a whole lot easier, of course, if Vincent would get out of her life the way Garrett had. But even though he had moved out, he kept popping by at all hours. Any hostility she tried to muster against him dissipated whenever she was faced with that congenial smile. She would just have to find another way to cope. She turned the ignition key and revved the engine.  
  
"And I think she was jealous," Avril commented smugly. "Did you see the way she was sizing me up?" She looked over her shoulder, then steered the car back onto the road, this time at a more leisurely tempo.  
  
"Frankie?" Vincent raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Naah." He rubbed his forefinger across his lips and watched the landscape pick up speed. Of course, it was possible. Not that he had given her any reason. He had never led her to believe there was anything more between them than a semi- professional collaboration. But Vincent was not unaware of the effect his physical attractiveness had on people, both women and men. He usually pretended obliviousness, but he had learned early on that his generous smile and that certain twinkle in his eye could open doors. And hearts.  
  
Avril drove directly back to the yard. She needed to get back for a meeting with King Ransom's owner. He was worried about the horse having picked up some virus, and she needed to reassure him. Dealing with owners as highly-strung as their animals was par for the course. The outing with Vincent had done her good, though, despite putting her under some time pressure.  
  
She had been hesitant when he had roared into the yard this afternoon, urging her to play hooky with him, but in the end his offer of letting her drive the Granada had proven too tempting. It felt refreshing just to get away, away from the demands, away from the smells of the stables, away from the pile of paperwork lurking in the corner every time she entered the kitchen. The cool air rushing past the half-open window and the gray mist had allowed her mind to go blissfully blank. It had been just her and Vincent in the car, no spectres of Garrett and Rosie, no bank payments due, no banal chit-chat, not even Jesus had been admitted entry to this sanctum sanctorum. Vincent never tried to discuss religion with her, which she found both strange and comforting. A priest who never brought up the state of her eternal soul. Either he figured she was too far gone, or...what? He had said once that he had given up on her ages ago, yet he kept coming back. Why? She was about to come right out and ask, but she was afraid of the answer. She suspected (or maybe she just hoped) that he was in love with her. But if she confronted him with that possibility, or through her question forced him to confront himself with it, she was afraid that he would stop coming round altogether. And she didn't want him to stop coming round.  
  
When they got back, the yard was mercifully empty. Avril would have a few minutes to herself before Mr. O'Shaughnessy showed up. She turned off the engine and held out the key to Vincent. "Thanks, Vincent," she said sincerely.  
  
Vincent held out his hand so she could drop the key into his palm. Ever since the night of the foaling, he had become especially aware of Avril's body space, and went to great pains not to invade it. But instead of avoiding the contact, as he had expected, she lowered her hand until her fingertips brushed his palm and left the key there. He closed his fingers around the warm metal and looked at Avril, but she had already turned away and opened the door to get out. "No problem," he responded softly.  
  
He drove back to town at an unhurried pace, deep in thought. He hadn't achieved what had been his original purpose in spending some time alone with Avril, but perhaps a much greater goal had been attained. He had wanted to tell her what he had found out about his former house in town. Or rather break the news to her, since it was sure to upset her. But as soon as he had spoken to her at the yard, he had immediately sensed that another upset was exactly what she did not need. She needed a break. So he had obliged her. He could tell she had enjoyed herself. And now, just maybe, she was beginning to let go of her defense mechanisms and allow herself to express affection. He just had to make sure it wasn't the wrong kind of affection.  
  
There was another reason that he was in no great hurry to get back to St. Joseph's, despite the fact that the scheduled hour for confessions was fast approaching. Vincent knew that Father Mac had a bee in his bonnet and that he was the cause. He wasn't looking forward to the confrontation.  
  
Just as he had feared, as soon as he parked the car behind the church, Father Mac's round head came bobbing into view from the direction of Kathleen's. He must have been waiting for him. Vincent waved at him enthusiastically while he was still out of earshot and pointed urgently toward the church, indicating that he had pressing business to attend to. He turned and trotted toward the building, ignoring Father Mac's shouts of "Father Sheahan! Father Sheahan! A word!"  
  
There was nobody waiting when Vincent unlocked the church. Not that he had really expected there to be. Still, he had promised to be available from 3 to 4. If nothing else, he would have a quiet hour to himself. If only he could reach the safety of the confessional before...  
  
"Father Sheahan, this situation is untenable!" Father Mac thundered.  
  
Vincent cringed in the vestibule. How in the world had the man, to all intents and purposes a cripple, caught up to him so fast? He turned to Father Mac with a patient smile. "What situation would that be?" Vincent inquired calmly. He really wasn't sure if he meant the fact that Vincent was staying at the pub, or if he were referring to the talk around town regarding him and Avril.  
  
"Don't play games with me, you know what I'm talking about," Father Mac seethed as he hobbled past Vincent into the church.  
  
Vincent decided to go for the easier one first. "You wouldn't by any chance be on about me living at Fitzgerald's?" he asked offhandedly, letting the door fall shut behind him.  
  
Father Mac stopped in his tracks and considered. "Well, yes, there is that," he admitted. Apparently he had been thinking of the other matter, but now Vincent hoped to deflect him with this topic.  
  
Vincent walked past Father Mac toward the confessional. "I'm sorry, Father, I don't see what's wrong with it. It's not like it's a house of ill repute."  
  
Father Mac kept pace with him, lecturing, "It is a public house catering to all classes of ruffians at all hours of the day and night."  
  
"Are you including yourself in that description?" Vincent tossed over his shoulder.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, it's just that I've seen you stop in occasionally for a drink yourself," Vincent explained coolly.  
  
"Yes, but, that's different."  
  
"Of course it is." Vincent stopped in front of the confessional and turned to face Father Mac.  
  
"It is not an appropriate lodging for a curate of the church."  
  
"But it is an appropriate lodging for families with children?" Vincent asked rhetorically.  
  
"What are you talking about?" It always confused Father Mac when Vincent tried to turn the tables on him.  
  
"Paul and Oonagh live there with their two kids, in case you've forgotten. You don't seem too concerned about the influence it might be having on them."  
  
"I am not charged with their welfare," Father Mac reminded him self- righteously.  
  
"Whose welfare are you in charge of then, if not the families living in your parish?"  
  
Father Mac sighed loudly. "Father Sheahan, you know perfectly well what is meant. Of course I am concerned about the welfare of all persons, no matter where they may be living, and most especially of those within our parish boundaries. However, I cannot dictate where everybody else chooses to make their home."  
  
"You can't dictate where I make my home, either. Excuse me, I'm scheduled to hear confession." He stepped into the confessional and snapped the door shut.  
  
"Whose?" Father Mac's indignant voice echoed around the empty church. As no answer was forthcoming, he stepped up to the confessional and rapped on the door with his cane. "Father Sheahan, I am not finished with you," he shouted. Then he rapped several more times for good measure. In case Vincent hadn't heard him. The nerve! Impertinent, insolent, and brash. That certainly described him well. As it had described Father Mac himself in his younger years. And if Vincent was like him in any other way...well, maybe there was still time to avert disaster.  
  
Inside the confessional, Vincent closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. Why couldn't the man just mind his own business? It wasn't like he had done anything wrong, he hadn't broken any rules or neglected any of his duties. Either by living over the bar or by trying to help Avril. Why was Father Mac so adamant about avoiding even the appearance of impropriety? Really, nobody would think twice about Vincent living at Fitzgerald's. It was run by a well-respected family, it catered mainly to tourists during the day and locals in the evening, it was quiet (as pubs go), and never had had a run-in with the law, at least not since the Dooleys had been in charge. Hell, the law was right across the street. He knew, though, that both situations made Father Mac uncomfortable, not only because of his concern about what was proper, but also because of the increasing pressure he was under from the Bishop to get his house in order. Vincent didn't want to be the cause of any more citations from the Bishop, not for his own sake, but for Father Mac's. He did feel sympathy for the poor man.  
  
Vincent could still hear Father Mac mumbling and puttering around outside the confessional. He sighed and opened the door a crack. "Father?" he said resignedly.  
  
"Don't worry, Father, I'm not going anywhere," Father Mac replied from the pew where he had installed himself. "I can be just as stubborn as you. Or what was the word you used? 'Obstinate?'"  
  
Vincent was silent for a moment. "I think that was 'cantankerous,'" he finally replied.  
  
Father Mac cracked a smile. "Yes, that was it."  
  
Vincent stood up and leaned against the doorway of the confessional. "Father Mac," he began reasonably, "I really don't see anything wrong with my staying at Fitzgerald's. Until something more permanent turns up," he added. "I was tired of changing beds every night."  
  
Father Mac chewed on this. It was true that running around the parish from one home to the next was hardly conducive to the stability he wished to see in his curate. And what did it say about the church that one of its priests had even gone homeless one night, forced to sleep under a hedge? If the church couldn't even take care of its own... "All right, Father, I agree with you. Given the alternative, Fitzgerald's does seem a happy compromise."  
  
Vincent nodded and smiled, satisfied. Good. One less thing to worry about. He turned and was about to sit back down inside the confessional when Father Mac spoke again.  
  
"Ah, there is another matter that I wished to discuss with you."  
  
Damn, he had remembered. 'Forgetful' was definitely not one of the adjectives one would use to describe Father MacAnally. Even though he knew perfectly well what the matter was, Vincent put on an open smile and asked, "And that would be?"  
  
"Avril Burke," Father Mac said darkly. There, now he had said it. There was no beating about the bush any more. Vincent would have to start doing some explaining.  
  
Vincent blinked politely. "Avril Burke."  
  
"Is there an echo in here? Yes, Avril Burke," Father Mac said testily.  
  
"Well I'm not staying at her place any more. I thought we were through with that topic."  
  
"That was the one wise decision you've made. I thank God that you saw sense and moved out."  
  
"I thought she needed some space," Vincent shrugged.  
  
"You thought she--?" Father Mac was flabbergasted.  
  
"Yes, she," Vincent confirmed.  
  
"--needed--?" Father Mac was able to choke out.  
  
"Some space," Vincent completed the sentence.  
  
Father Mac was clearly at a loss for words. His mouth flapped open and closed a couple of times while his head slowly took on the hue of a boiled lobster.  
  
Vincent began to worry that Father Mac had taken ill. He knew that his heart wasn't the strongest anymore. "Are you all right, Father?" he asked with some concern, taking a couple of steps toward the pew where Father Mac was seated.  
  
Father Mac waved his hand helplessly at Vincent. "Never better," he croaked.  
  
Vincent sat down beside Father Mac and offered, "Would you like some water?"  
  
Father Mac shook his head, swallowed and recovered. "I don't think I've ever seen a more selfless example of consideration," he finally remarked.  
  
Vincent wasn't sure if he meant that sincerely or not. He thought perhaps not.  
  
"I don't really understand what all the fuss is about. Nobody so much as batted an eye when I took a room at Kathleen's place. In fact, you arranged it," Vincent pointed out.  
  
"Kathleen Hendley is not an attractive, young, unattached woman."  
  
"Don't let her hear you say that," Vincent warned jokingly.  
  
"Pah!" Father Mac scoffed, shaking his head. Didn't they take anything seriously Down Under? "Father, I don't believe you understand the gravity of the situation."  
  
"No, I really don't believe I do."  
  
Father Mac adjusted his body so that he was facing Vincent. "Are you oblivious to the rumours making the rounds as to the nature of your...ah, relationship with Ms. Burke?"  
  
Vincent attempted to blow the whole thing off as ridiculous. "Is that what you're worried about? A few gossipy housewives?"  
  
But Father Mac continued undaunted. "What worries me is whether there is anything to those rumours."  
  
Vincent turned cool. "My relationship with Avril Burke is nobody's business but our own."  
  
Father Mac raised his eyebrows. "Oh, so there is a relationship?" He hadn't expected that at all. Heated denials perhaps, or evasive excuses. But to admit it flat out like that, well, maybe there was still some way to salvage the situation.  
  
Vincent considered how best to answer him. Certainly, there was a relationship between them. But not the way that Father Mac, and everybody else, seemed to mean. He wasn't sure if he could explain exactly what their relationship consisted of, because he wasn't sure himself. It was constantly changing, and although he knew where he wanted it to head, he couldn't guarantee that Avril would cooperate. But for now, he had to appease his superior. He stood abruptly and pointed toward the confessional. "Father Mac, would you like to hear my confession?"  
  
"Your what?" Father Mac was taken aback. Another surprise move.  
  
"My confession. Maybe that will clear things up for both of us." The more he thought about it, the better the idea seemed to him.  
  
"Now that's not why I came down here," Father Mac tried to beg off.  
  
Vincent became more enthusiastic. "I know, I know. But as long as we're both here, and you can see there's no great demand for my services..." He gestured around at the empty pews.  
  
Father Mac looked up at Vincent through narrowed eyes. Somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that the lad was up to something. On the other hand, the Sacrament of Reconciliation was something that he felt Vincent would still take seriously, even if he had played it fast and loose with some of his vows. "All right," he agreed somewhat reluctantly. He stood up stiffly, pushed away Vincent's proffered hand, and clumped over to the confessional.  
  
"Bless me Father, it's been, ah," Vincent tried to count quickly, but he never had been too good at numbers. "About ten days since my last confession."  
  
Father Mac rolled his eyes and snorted. This was getting off to a good start.  
  
"I told a lie. I did it so as not to hurt someone's feelings, but I think she knew it was a lie and I'm afraid that might have hurt her more."  
  
Of course, Father Mac assumed that the 'she' in question was Avril. "And what is it that is plaguing your conscience? Is it the lie...or the fact that it hurt someone?"  
  
"I regret having told the lie. It was cowardly of me not to tell the truth," Vincent openly admitted.  
  
Father Mac nodded in satisfaction. "What do you think should be done to right the situation?"  
  
"I've already made a resolution to be kinder toward Kathleen, but I think I should also go and explain to her straight out why I couldn't stay at her place any longer."  
  
Father Mac frowned in confusion. "Kathleen? What does she have to do with it?"  
  
"Well she was the one I lied to."  
  
Father Mac was puzzled. "I see. And why couldn't you stay at her place any longer?"  
  
That was a hard one. "I didn't feel like I had enough privacy there," he finally responded.  
  
"That didn't stop you from moving in with Ms. Burke," Father Mac said pointedly.  
  
"I'm not talking about Avril," Vincent said, slightly irritated. Wouldn't Father Mac ever get his mind off Avril for a minute? "With Kathleen, I felt like she always knew what I was thinking."  
  
"Yes. I can see how that might have been, ah, constrictive."  
  
"It was like living with my mother."  
  
Father Mac laughed shortly at that. "But you didn't find Avril like your mother."  
  
More than you might suspect, old man, Vincent thought to himself, recalling the homely feelings that Avril had stirred in him. But he simply reminded the older priest, "Father, I'm talking about Kathleen here."  
  
"Yes of course." Father Mac wondered when Vincent would ever get to the point. Or why else were they here? "Go on," he urged.  
  
"Well, I fell asleep on the trip to Knock and Paddy O'Connell had to lead the recitation of the rosary."  
  
"Sloth."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Sloth. One of the old seven."  
  
"Ah yeah, yeah. Well I felt badly about that, even though I thanked Paddy and I think he felt pretty proud that I had entrusted him with the task."  
  
"Mm-hm."  
  
"So I'm not sure how I can reconcile that one."  
  
Father Mac was getting bored. "One rosary would seem appropriate."  
  
"OK. Then my mind wandered during the Mass and the Stations of the Cross. I'm afraid I didn't show the proper respect for the passion of Our Lord."  
  
"What was preoccupying you?" Father Mac asked, almost automatically.  
  
"Avril."  
  
Father Mac perked up a bit. "Ah. And what, erm, aspect of Ms. Burke did you find yourself dwelling on?"  
  
"Her anger."  
  
That wasn't what Father Mac had expected to hear, either. This afternoon was just full of surprises. "Was she angry at you?"  
  
"Yes, well, only as a symptom. I think she's angry at herself mostly, and at her sister. I was trying to find a way to help her get past that, to reconcile."  
  
"Mm-hm. And this caused a loss of concentration."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"Well, I would say that as nobody else was harmed by your lapse, you should read Matthew 27: 26-37 before reciting the rosary, and dwell on the sufferings of Our Lord."  
  
"Yes, Father."  
  
"Is that all?" Father Mac ventured, when nothing more seemed forthcoming.  
  
Vincent drummed his fingers on his knee. It took a great deal of self- control for him to finally mutter through his teeth, "I was short-tempered and impudent with my superior."  
  
Father Mac was silent for a moment. He reflected on his own frequent clashes with the Bishop. "I don't think that will ever change," he said, not unkindly.  
  
Vincent sighed. "I knew what you wanted to talk to me about." He paused, then continued sheepishly, "And I'm sorry I suggested that you were a ruffian." And finally, contritely, "And I know that you are concerned with the welfare of our parishioners."  
  
"Well. I accept your apology."  
  
"Thank you, Father."  
  
"Go on."  
  
"That's it."  
  
"That's it?"  
  
"That's it."  
  
"You have...nothing else that you wish to confess before God?"  
  
"I have nothing further to confess." After all, spending time alone with a parishioner wasn't a sin in and of itself. The affection he felt for Avril was special, certainly, but not beyond the bounds of decency. The kiss he had given Avril the night of the foaling had been completely innocent of consciously lustful intention on his part, and the other kiss had come from her. He truly felt clear and free. So, as he had finished unburdening his conscience, he ended with a prayer. "Oh my God, because you are so good, I am very sorry that I have sinned against you, and by the help of your grace I will not sin again."  
  
Father Mac was once again surprised, this time by the abrupt ending. Had really nothing happened between Father Sheahan and Avril Burke? He absent-mindedly spoke the words of absolution. "God, the Father of mercy, through death and resurrection of Christ his son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God grant you pardon and peace .. and I absolve you from all your sins in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Go in peace, my son."  
  
Unlike Vincent's tete-a-tete with Father Mac, Avril's meeting with Mr. O'Shaughnessy had been quick and painless. Actually, Avril hadn't had to do much more than greet him and accompany him to the stables. He had brought his own veterinarian along, who had been able to confirm that King Ransom was as healthy as, well, a horse. Thus appeased, the two men had exited stage right, leaving Avril with a half-hour of extra time on her hands.  
  
She had been putting off tanking up the horse box, as she dreaded having to make small talk with Edso. On the other hand, it just wasn't worth driving that diesel devourer the extra miles to the next service station out on the highway. Gritting her teeth, she fired up the engine and drove down the road.  
  
When she pulled up to the pump, the garage looked deserted. But soon enough, Edso emerged from the building and sauntered over. It was nice to have the only diesel filling station in town. Kept the business regular. And no one was more regular than Avril. That monstrosity of a horse box only got about 2 kilometers to the litre. He'd used to enjoy her frequent pit stops, but lately he'd frankly lost interest. The whole affair with her and the priest had left a sour taste in his mouth. Was she turning into a nun or what?  
  
Avril climbed down from the cab and wiped her hands on her jeans. She put on a polite smile and greeted the mechanic as he approached. "Edso, hi." She wasn't sure if she should wave at him or reach out to shake his hand or what, so she quickly stuffed her hands into her pockets.  
  
Edso nodded shortly at her and asked, "Fill her up?" as he reached down to unscrew the tank lid.  
  
"Please." Avril looked around. The fog had lifted, revealing the sodden fields, bleak hills, and empty sky. She thought it would be just as well if the fog would come back. At least it would give them something to talk about. "Haven't seen you around lately," she said, just in order to say something, then realized straight away that that was the wrong thing to say.  
  
"I've been here," Edso replied flatly, accurately implying that she hadn't been looking for him.  
  
"Right," Avril smiled, embarrassed. God, would she ever learn to just keep her mouth shut?  
  
Edso watched Avril in silence. Kathleen's advice to him about keeping quiet around Avril had turned out to be very useful. Now, instead of him putting his foot in his mouth, it was Avril. She was clearly nervous around him. Yet she didn't get all giggly and bat her eyes at him like some girls did. She seemed to just be uncomfortable. Was that because she thought he knew something?  
  
Things had been promising between them at first. Where had it gone wrong? Obviously, he had blown it by trying to kiss Avril in Fitzgerald's the night after The Cat's maiden run at Wexford. He didn't think he had misread her signals totally, though; there had been some chemistry between them that day. She was probably more of a private person. He shouldn't have tried to push it. But things had still seemed salvageable until he had come up with that brilliant line, 'You have the most beautiful eyes.'  
  
Should he say something about the priest? he wondered. For some reason, some of the patrons at Fitzgerald's assumed that he had an inside track on that information, but he was as clueless (or as imaginative) as the next bloke. Just because he and Avril had been getting chummy at Wexford, but that had been as far as he had gotten. It was true that he had seen some signs before Father Sheahan had moved in at the yard, things like the Mustang coming out of the yard early in the morning, or the book he had found on Avril's table, and Avril had clearly been trying to cover something up when she told him that fable about how her window had got broken. But what? Had that had something to do with the priest as well?  
  
Edso didn't want to lose his chance with Avril entirely. He decided to comment on a nice, safe topic: the new filly. "I hear there's been a change in the number of residents at the stables?"  
  
Avril whipped her head around to look at Edso with a look of disbelief. "What?" She couldn't believe he was actually going to say something about Vincent leaving. She thought he was more tactful than that. "What business is that of yours?" she demanded aggressively, ready to defend herself.  
  
Edso backed off, holding up both hands in a peacemaking gesture. "Whoa, I always thought a birth was an occasion of joy. Sorry I asked." He turned his attention back to the diesel gauge, mentally shaking his head at Avril's reaction. Boy, was she touchy. Probably better they hadn't started dating. She would have been a high-maintenance broad.  
  
Avril's mind whirled around in confusion for a moment, stirred about by the shot of adrenalin she had gotten at the thought that Edso was trying to make something out of her and Vincent. But this talk of a birth didn't fit into that scheme. "Oh, you mean Pilgrim's Progress's filly!" she realized with relief. She tried to muster some enthusiasm for his sake. "Yes, yes, we're all very excited about it."  
  
But Edso was no longer interested. "Yeah, must be nice," he remarked distantly. He shut off the diesel line and replaced the hose on the pump.  
  
Avril felt bad about her outburst. It wasn't Edso's fault she was so sensitive on the topic of Father Sheahan. "Well would you like to come by sometime and see her?" she offered. "She's really adorable."  
  
The day before, Edso would have jumped at the invitation, but now he reckoned it was better to keep his distance from this one, at least until he'd gotten a handle on what was going on with her. He started walking backwards toward the garage. "Nah, thanks. You've seen one horse, you've seen them all. I'll put that on your account, shall I?" He pointed toward the building.  
  
"Yeah, OK, thanks, Edso," Avril called after him. She waved weakly at his back as he turned and disappeared inside. She climbed back up into the cab, reproaching herself for her social awkwardness. Why couldn't she just treat Edso like a normal human being? She didn't have this difficulty talking to Siobhan, or to Donal.  
  
She reached down to start the engine when a dark blue car caught her eye going past out on the road. She straightened up and stuck her head out of the window to get a better look. She caught a glimpse of orange hair and a Dublin number. Was that...? She squinted her eyes to see better, but the car had already passed out of view. Nah, it couldn't be. He wouldn't be so callous as to come around again. Or would he? Maybe just passing through. Probably somebody else altogether. Still, she couldn't fully shake the feeling of disquiet. She sat there for a full minute before starting the engine and driving slowly back toward the stables. 


	5. The Return Of Mr Burridge

Vincent and Avril Chapter 5 "The Return of Mr. Burridge" by Margaret Pattison  
  
"Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen." Avril's eyelids flew open. "More coffee?" she asked brightly, leaning forward toward the table where their mugs were sitting.  
  
"No, I'm fine thanks," responded Vincent from where he was happily reposing on Avril's sofa. He admired the trapezoidal shape of her back sheathed in white cotton that presented itself to him when she picked up her mug, then felt a pleasant satisfaction when she returned to her position beside him. He reached over to point at the rosary she was holding in her other hand. "Now see after ten of those, there's this other bead. That's for the 'Glory Be'."  
  
"And you say that one cause you're so glad to be done with all the 'Hail Mary's'," Avril joked.  
  
"Pretty much," agreed Vincent with a warm smile. He was glad she hadn't lost her sense of humour. It had been quite a blow to her psyche to find out that Garrett had bought the curate's house to use as a weekend getaway. She seemed unable, or unwilling, to assimilate the information, though, rejecting any discussion of it. It was also telling that she hadn't left the safety of the yard since she had found out. Vincent intuited that she was afraid of running into Garrett or Rosie, even though to his knowledge neither of them had been sighted in town. Paul had been able to find out the name of the buyer from Lucius Cattermole, and Vincent had found out from him. Vincent wondered what in the world Garrett Burridge was up to. Was he completely oblivious to how his and Rosie's presence would affect Avril? Or was he possibly trying to get back together with Avril? Vincent found that that prospect disquieted him even more. Careful, Vince, he warned himself. Are you more concerned over the state of Avril's heart, or of your own?  
  
Avril had agreed to let Vincent give her a refresher course in the recitation of the rosary. She had learned the prayers long ago in catechism instruction, of course, so the words and rhythms were familiar to her, but she hadn't said them in twenty years. Now that she was hearing and saying them again, there was something comforting in them, as if she were returning home.  
  
Not that her home had been a particularly religious one; it had simply been socially expected that she and Rosie be confirmed. No one in her family, from her parents down, was much of one for organized religion. It all seemed too rigid, there was so much that was expected of one. Go to Mass once a week, memorize everything, confess your sins, speak now, be silent then, stand up, sit down, kneel, genuflect, cross yourself this way, touch this, kiss that, don't let the wafer touch your teeth, it just went on and on. She hadn't ever really thought about God; as a child, the concept had been simply too abstract. As a teenager and young adult, she had been too busy with horses and boys to waste a thought on theology; she hadn't needed Him then. Then had come the parties and the alcohol, Garrett, and the rest.  
  
So what was it that had made her say yes when Vincent had suggested showing her how to use the rosary he had given to her? Certainly the prospect of spending time alone with him. He made her feel confident, important, just happy. She found herself looking forward to every appointment they made; those were oases of calm and comfort in the midst of her ever-increasing financial, professional, and personal pressures. She wanted to flee them all. In the past, she would have sought refuge in the bottle. Now she was stronger, more determined. She had something to work for, something to protect. So she sorted her priorities and dealt head-on with those things that wouldn't be put off any longer. The rest would have to wait. Like Garrett. For him to pull this stunt now was exactly what she didn't need. But it was typical. He was headstrong and impulsive, like her, and when he saw something that he wanted, he used his wealth and clout to get it. She didn't have that advantage, she had had to rely on her looks, her guts and hard work.  
  
She snuggled back into the soft cushion and regarded the dull brown beads that lay across her hand and knee. She had been caught off-guard when he had presented them to her. 'Because I promised you.' Those words had spoken to her soul. Garrett had promised her, too. But what had come of those promises, she thought bitterly.  
  
The thought of Garrett made Avril restless. This whole thing with the rosary seemed senseless. She rested her coffee cup on her thigh and clicked the beads distractedly against each other. "I don't know," she said apologetically, "this just isn't me."  
  
Vincent noticed her sudden change of mood. "It's whatever you make of it," he said. "Think of it as an alternative to counting to ten," he suggested.  
  
"Scuse me?"  
  
"Whenever you feel like you want to blow your top, say a quick Hail Mary to yourself."  
  
Avril wasn't sure if that would really do the trick, and she proposed half in jest, "Or when I feel like I want a drink?"  
  
Vincent was agreeable. "Sure if it helps you."  
  
Avril was curious. She cocked her head to one side and asked, "Is that what you do? Say a prayer when you get the thirst?"  
  
"Sometimes. But it doesn't really help me to suppress those feelings."  
  
"What?"  
  
"What I mean is, I have to accept that it's a part of me." He put his hand on his chest and said seriously, "I am an alcoholic. If I forget that, I'm one step closer to losing the battle." He rested his hands on his knees, sat up and leaned over closer to Avril, looking into her eyes. "But as long as I accept that craving, and I know you feel it, too, as long as I accept it and make it mine, then it doesn't rule me. I'm the master, not the slave."  
  
Avril held his gaze steady. She could feel the power of his words, the conviction behind them. But she also felt that he wasn't just talking about a craving for alcohol. She wondered if he felt that other longing as well. He had told her that night at Brendan's house that he hadn't been tempted by a woman since he had given up drinking, but maybe that's what he meant, that he had achieved control over those feelings by accepting them and thus making them no threat to him. Her fingers tingled with the desire to reach out and touch him. She quickly looked down and clenched her hands around her coffee cup, keeping the rosary wound around one hand.  
  
"Do you think that works for other things as well?" she asked, wondering if her cheeks were as red as they felt.  
  
"Like what?"  
  
Avril looked off to the side. She was getting into an area that she didn't feel comfortable discussing with Vincent. Because it involved him. "Like, other feelings." She rubbed her thumbs over the smooth porcelain and tried to keep her voice steady. "Feelings you have but can't act on. Or feelings you wish you didn't have."  
  
"Well I've heard it works for chronic pain," he offered lamely, knowing that wasn't what she meant. Vincent looked down at Avril's hands. He could tell she was getting discomfited. He wanted to reach out to her, soothe her nervous fingers with a gentle touch, a gesture that he could have used with any other parishioner, but he had to be especially careful with Avril. She was jumpy and skittish, and he had been burned the night of the foaling.  
  
He studied her face, trying to read her thoughts. He reckoned she was talking about Garrett. Maybe she still loved him. Or maybe she had never been able to let go of her love for him, even though it was dead. As a last possibility, he considered that she might have dark, violent feelings toward Garrett, or Rosie, or both. He had never known her to become physically aggressive, neither toward animals nor toward people, so he discounted that idea for the moment, but made a note to keep it in mind.  
  
Avril could sense his eyes on her. Her heart was beating faster. He was still leaning forward, and his black-clothed leg was just millimeters from hers. She tried to hold perfectly still. She could smell the blue and spicy smell of his after-shave, deodorant, shampoo, she didn't know what, but she recognized it as his. She felt her skin start to prickle. All at once, she bolted forward, clattering her cup onto the table as she stood up.  
  
Vincent reflexively sat back to avoid having their heads collide. He was startled, both by the sound of the cup and by her sudden movement. "What?" he asked with concern.  
  
Avril tried to respond lightly, pushing her hair back behind her ears. "Nothing, nothing." She hadn't meant to be quite so abrupt. She had just had to get away, to change the chemistry of that moment. She stepped around the table and turned to face Vincent. She smiled awkwardly and gestured over her shoulder toward the yard. "I just...thanks for stopping by. I have to get back to work."  
  
"Sure, OK," Vincent agreed, bewildered. He stood up, too. "Was it something I said?"  
  
"No no no, I just realized how late it was getting," she lied. She folded her arms, still clutching the rosary, and looked at her feet.  
  
"Avril, if there's something that's bothering you, I hope you can tell me about it." He could tell that something in their conversation had struck a nerve with her. But every time she got close to the core of her troubles, she pulled back. Patience, Vince.  
  
Avril nodded and looked down. Maybe she should just get it over with, she had to either tell him or stop letting him come around. But if she told him, he'd stop coming around anyway. She cleared her throat.  
  
"Maybe another time," Vincent said gently. He started toward the door.  
  
Avril hesitated. "No. Wait."  
  
Vincent stopped and turned back toward Avril. He watched her expectantly.  
  
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. A knock sounded at the door. They both silently cursed whomever it was.  
  
"Do you want me to--?" Vincent asked, pointing toward the door.  
  
Avril raised one hand. "No. Wait. Don't move," she said through her teeth on her way to the door. She knew that the moment was past, but now maybe she'd have a minute to think of what she actually wanted to say to him. Her heart was still pounding when she opened the door. It almost stopped a second later.  
  
"Hello Avril," Garrett greeted her stiffly.  
  
Avril stared at him, open-mouthed. Finally she recovered enough to demand, "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Nice to see you again, too." Garrett gave her a tight smile.  
  
Avril looked behind him. His silver Alfa stood proudly in the yard next to the Mustang with the roof down. "Bring your girlfriend?" she inquired pointedly.  
  
"If you mean Rosie, no, she didn't come down with me," he responded calmly.  
  
"Smart girl," she said with narrowed eyes.  
  
"Look Avril, I know news travels fast around here, so you must have heard that I've bought a place in town."  
  
"I couldn't care less," Avril hissed. He thought he was so superior, breezing in and out of her life like this, being so calm and so forgiving. It made her bristle with vitriol.  
  
"Hey, come on," he cajoled. "You weren't like this when I saw you last time I was down."  
  
It very briefly passed through Avril's consciousness that this would be exactly the time to say that Hail Mary, but instead she growled through her teeth with increasing volume, "The last time I saw you, I wasn't aware that you were sleeping with my sister!"  
  
He looked up toward the eaves. "I didn't come here to discuss Rosie."  
  
"Oh no? And why not? You've obviously discussed me and my failings enough with her!"  
  
Garrett stepped back, shook his head and looked around. This wasn't going well. He had come here with a simple business proposal, one which he had been sure Avril would welcome, and she couldn't get beyond this story with Rosie. Sure it had been over three years. From somewhere inside the apartment, he heard a deep male voice say, "Avril?" Garrett's attention snapped back to Avril. Whom did she have in there with her? He could hear footsteps approaching.  
  
Vincent had been waiting in the living room, wondering what Avril had been about to say. She had mentioned having feelings that she didn't want and couldn't act on. Did she not want those feelings because she couldn't act on them? She certainly didn't have a chance of getting back together with Garrett at this point. Or were they destructive feelings, feelings that were both socially and morally inacceptable, and that made her feel ugly and bad? From where he was standing, he heard the man's voice in conversation with Avril but was unable to place it. However, once he heard Avril screech, "...sleeping with my sister," he quickly realized that she might need some moral support.  
  
"Avril?" Vincent entered the hallway. "Everything all right?" He walked over and stood behind her in the doorway. He was about to put his hand on her shoulder in a gesture of solidarity and comfort, but was able at the last second to catch himself. The visitor was a well-groomed man in a leather jacket whom Vincent didn't recognize. He reached around Avril and held out his hand. "G'day mate," he welcomed Garrett, giving him a big shark-toothed smile.  
  
Garrett did a double-take. He identified the stranger as a priest by his collar, and as an Australian by his accent, but what in the world was he doing in Avril's apartment, calling her by her first name, and playing the protector? And now he noticed that Avril had a rosary dangling from one hand. He didn't immediately return Vincent's greeting. He had no idea how to act around a Catholic priest. Was he supposed to kiss his ring or something?  
  
Avril took some malicious pleasure in Garrett's hesitation. "Vincent, Garrett Burridge. Garrett, Father Vincent Sheahan." She stared triumphantly at Garrett and raised one eyebrow.  
  
Garrett took up Avril's challenge and gripped Vincent's hand. The two men looked each other in the eye, both announcing to the other through his body language that this was his territory now. Whether by that they meant Avril, the yard, or Ballykissangel, neither one would have been able to say for sure.  
  
"Garrett Burridge," Vincent smiled oilily as he dropped Garrett's hand. "Avril's ex-husband," he added, thus informing Garrett that Avril had reported on him in great detail.  
  
Garrett found himself at a disadvantage. He fixed Avril with a piercing stare. "I didn't know you had found religion." He glanced at the rosary. "Part of your recovery?" he asked with open curiosity.  
  
Avril wasn't sure how to answer that. As far as she knew, they hadn't really touched on religion until today, but she had to admit that he was helping her in a recovery of sorts, not from alcoholism, but from her self- imposed personal solitude. She tried to nonchalantly hide the rosary behind her back. "No, well, Vincent is more of a friend," she finally stammered.  
  
Garrett raised his eyebrows in amused surprise at Vincent. Vincent opened his mouth, about to clarify what Avril had said, then looked down at her, saw the stubbornness in her jaw and the challenge in her eye and reconsidered. What she had said was only the truth. Vincent returned Garrett's look with an amused expression of his own.  
  
"Vincent?" Garrett registered the informal form of address. Maybe that's how you talked to priests nowadays. Not being Catholic, Garrett had no idea. "Well. That's nice for you," Garrett replied to Avril noncommittally, keeping his eyes on Vincent.  
  
"Is that what you came for? To check up on my 'recovery'?" Avril gave the last word a sarcastic emphasis, to communicate to Garrett that she was long since back to full strength and that he was sorely mistaken in assuming that she had any need of help from anyone. She wanted to be cruel and hard toward Garrett, but found that her heart wasn't in it with Vincent standing right behind her.  
  
Garrett shifted his gaze to Avril. "No. Actually, I came to talk shop. Maybe I should come back."  
  
"No mate, here, it's no bother," Vincent said generously. "We can continue another time, right Avril?"  
  
"Um yeah, sure," she said uncertainly. Continue what? The catechism or the revelation? She reckoned that would have to be up to her.  
  
"Unless you want me to stay," Vincent offered, noting her hesitation. Maybe she didn't want to be left alone with Garrett.  
  
Well of course Avril wanted Vincent to stay, but at the same time she wanted to show Garrett that she didn't need to rely on anyone else. "No, it's all right," she said clearly.  
  
"All right," Vincent agreed. He stepped out the door past Avril. "Good to have met you, Garrett," he said heartily, holding out his hand once more.  
  
"Right, you too, Vincent," Garrett said, squeezing Vincent's hand harder than was perhaps necessary.  
  
Vincent trotted down the steps and over to his car. He paused to admire Garrett's car. "Nice set of wheels," he called up to Garrett. "Maybe you'll let me take her for a spin sometime?"  
  
Garrett didn't really feel inclined to let that smarmy cleric get behind the wheel of his car, but he just called back, "Thanks," and waved at him before turning back to Avril. "Can I come in?" he nodded toward the interior.  
  
Avril wasn't about to let Garrett invade her private space. She quickly hung the rosary on one of the hooks behind the door. "You said you had some business to discuss?" she asked pointedly as she stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind her. She waved to Vincent as he drove off, then folded her arms and started walking across the yard toward the stables.  
  
Garrett followed her, his hands in the pockets of his tailored woolen trousers. "I told you the last time I saw you how impressed I was with how you were running this place."  
  
"Yeah, you told me lots of things. Except you forgot to mention who your girlfriend was," she said dryly.  
  
Garrett ignored that. "I'd like to bring two of my horses down and board them here."  
  
Avril stopped in her tracks and stared hard at Garrett. "Since when have you bought any racers?" Her interest shifted quickly from Rosie to Garrett's horses.  
  
"Not racehorses. Just my polo ponies. I don't expect you to train them, just basic care and exercise. I trust you to give me a fair price."  
  
"I don't know--" This was certainly a twist. Avril was caught completely off guard.  
  
"I can see you've got the room," he said, nodding toward the empty stables behind her.  
  
"That's just temporary," Avril reassured him, even if she wasn't sure herself. Business had been suffering since George and Mrs. Forbes had pulled out their horses. And with The Cat still on the sick list and unable to race, she was pretty much desperate for any sort of income at all. But she certainly didn't want Garrett to know that. And she wanted even less to actually be dependent upon Garrett to keep her head above water. However, she had to admit that, aside from the income, it would just look better for there to be more horses at the yard, more work going on, more deliveries, more people coming and going. Busyness equals business.  
  
"Well how about this," Garrett suggested. "If you get any interest from other owners and need the space, I'll pull my horses out to make room for them."  
  
"It's not just that," Avril objected, "these are racing stables. How's it going to look for a couple of polo ponies to be hanging around."  
  
"There goes the neighborhood?"  
  
"I mean I can't just let any old nag rest her hooves here," she said haughtily.  
  
"Are Mr. Tibbs and Steely old nags?" Garrett asked with a twinkle in his eye. He thought that Avril might have a soft spot for those two.  
  
Avril remembered the two horses fondly. In fact, Garrett had been riding Mr. Tibbs in a chukker when she had seen him in saddle for the first time. He had cut a dashing figure, certainly, but she had been more impressed with his masterly horsemanship. It had been like watching a centaur. Avril considered that Mr. Tibbs and Steely hadn't been yearlings even then.  
  
"So is this a retirement village then is it?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Putting them out to pasture."  
  
"Not at all," Garrett frowned. "They've still got plenty of good fight left in them. It's just that I'll need them to train on when I'm down here on holidays."  
  
"So it's true then. You have bought the place in town." Not that she had doubted it. Vincent had the information from Paul and she was certain that he wouldn't have set rumours like that loose without some hard facts.  
  
"I've always liked the area," he said, looking around at the cerulean sky. "It has nothing to do with you," he assured her, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"No I'm sure it doesn't," Avril replied snidely, although she wasn't really all that sure. She just couldn't figure what he was up to. She couldn't believe that he might actually be making a play for her again.  
  
"Rosie was dead set against it, but she isn't the one signing on the dotted line," he smiled tightly at her.  
  
"Well she hasn't always had the best judgment," Avril sneered. She meant that to be a dig at him, of course, but then realized that it also sounded as if she agreed with his decision to buy. Oh well, can't have it both ways.  
  
"Well look, I don't want to keep you. You must be incredibly busy," he said, politely ignoring both her comment and the complete lack of activity around them.  
  
"Yes, I am, I have," she gestured over her shoulder, "paperwork to catch up on." That was certainly the truth!  
  
"So you'll let me know about the horses." He reached into the inner breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a flat silver case. He snapped it open, took out a business card, and held it out to Avril between his first two fingers. "You can leave a message on my voice mail, or on my email. Otherwise I'm pretty hard to get hold of."  
  
Avril took the card and looked at the familiar names and numbers. "I remember," Avril smiled to herself. Some things never changed.  
  
Vincent stopped at Fitzgerald's to change shirts before going over to St. Joseph's for confessions. It really irked him that Kathleen had managed to finagle him into extending the hours for confession. Most of the time he sat there alone, twiddling his thumbs. He'd have to talk to her about cutting back again. He didn't want to do it without informing her first because of the promise he had made to be more charitable toward her, but he reckoned that if he sweet-talked her first, maybe even making it seem like her idea, that she'd surely see the sense in it and not give him a hard time.  
  
Life here wasn't anything like in Brazil, he thought for about the millionth time. No one there would have batted an eyelash if he had announced that confession would be heard only from four to five in the morning on alternate Thursdays. They would simply have gotten up early (or not gone to bed at all) and lined up humbly awaiting the Lord's absolution in a stumbling Portuguese that many of them didn't understand anyway. With plenty of cachaça to keep them warm. And to share with Vincent afterwards, of course.  
  
Five years living on the edge of the rain forest, among the peasant farmers of the swamps around Cuiabá, had both turned him into a man and spoiled him. On the one hand, he had had to give up harping on his lofty political and social ideals in favor of laboring, literally, side by side with the indigenous people to achieve the most modest standards of hygiene, health care, and nutrition. An outsider might have said he was more of an aid worker than a priest; he didn't hold many catechism classes or organize many pilgrimages on air-conditioned buses, but his hands-on attitude had earned him the respect of the people, and they sought him out when they were depressed or ill, when they were marrying, giving birth, or dying, for his blessings, his prayers, and simply for his company.  
  
On the other hand, he had gotten used to being the unchallenged authority. His word was God's, in the eyes of the villagers. Not that they were a simple folk. On the contrary, they were as sly, clever, wily, intelligent, sneaky, and humourous as any Australian (or Irishman, as he was finding out). And forgiving. They truly lived the maxim, God will forgive whom He will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men. In matters of religion, they had such an absolute, unyielding faith that he considered himself blessed to have had the opportunity to live among them and serve them.  
  
He strolled across the sunlit street toward the church. Seemed a shame to spend an afternoon like this cooped up in a tiny cubicle. As he neared his former residence, he noticed Garrett's silver car parked out in front. He looked around, but couldn't see any sign of him. Maybe he was inside? He glanced at his watch. Who would care if he were a little late? He ran his finger along the gleaming detailing of the sports car. If his life had taken a different turn...  
  
He looked up at the little house. No sign of movement or lights inside, but then it was hard to tell with the sun shining so brightly outside. He tapped his fingers on the hood of the car, then walked leisurely up the path and knocked on the bright red door. He stepped back and looked at the outside of the house. Nothing seemed to have been touched. He was about to give up when the door opened.  
  
"Vincent the priest," Garrett looked slightly surprised to see him, but not too much. "Nice of you to stop by. Courtesy call?" he asked politely.  
  
"Yeah, seeing as we're neighbours now," Vincent began, pointing up at the church.  
  
"Well. I wouldn't go that far. It's just a holiday home," Garrett said modestly.  
  
"Used to be mine," Vincent mentioned brightly.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"I say I used to live here," Vincent explained with a cheshire cat grin. Just to get Garrett's reaction to sleeping where he used to sleep.  
  
"Is that so?" Garrett had certainly heard that from the bank manager, but didn't let on. "Well is there anything you'd like to have back?" He graciously stepped back from the door and gestured toward the interior. "The place came furnished, but I'm going to have to start from scratch. Can't use any of it."  
  
"Don't give it a second thought," Vincent said dismissively. "I've already cleared out my personal things. And seeing as how I'm renting a room over the pub," he nodded toward Fitzgerald's, "I don't think I'll be able to take advantage of your generous offer." He also didn't think Garrett would go for the idea of Vincent as a tenant.  
  
Garrett nodded agreeably. "Well, in that case..." He put his hand on the door, about to say good-bye, but Vincent wasn't about to let him off that easily.  
  
"Hey, how did your meeting with Avril go?" he inquired.  
  
"Not as well as yours, I'd imagine," Garrett said smoothly, dropping his hand from the door. He could see the interview wasn't over yet.  
  
"Excuse me?" Vincent said, indicating that Garrett was out of line with that remark, as he knew perfectly well what Garrett had said, and implied.  
  
"Nothing," Garrett assured him. "We left it open."  
  
"It's just that she was pretty touchy about your last visit," Vincent said.  
  
"I never would have come down with Rosie if I'd known she was here," Garrett said sincerely. "I never wanted to hurt her."  
  
"But now you're planning on being around more often," Vincent said skeptically, indicating that he didn't quite follow Garrett's logic.  
  
"I'm sure Avril appreciates your concern," said Garrett sympathetically.  
  
"I do consider her a friend as well as a parishioner," Vincent tried to explain his interest.  
  
Garrett nodded and looked down, digesting this information. Then he looked Vincent in the eye. "How is she? I mean, how is she really?" Garrett asked.  
  
Vincent could see that Garrett was truly concerned for Avril's well- being. He didn't believe that Garrett was doing anything purposefully to hurt Avril. While this did make him more sympathetic toward Avril's ex- husband, he also felt a surge of rivalry that surprised him and which he quickly worked to suppress.  
  
"Better, I think," Vincent confided.  
  
"Good," said Garrett. "You know, I think we both want the same thing."  
  
Vincent froze and stared at Garrett, unsure whether to respond. It wasn't clear to him whether Garrett was accusing him of anything with that comment.  
  
"To see Avril healthy and happy," Garrett finished his thought.  
  
Vincent let his breath go. "Yeah, yeah, absolutely," he grinned. Then he pointed up toward the church. "Um, listen, I'm scheduled to hear confessions."  
  
"I'm not Catholic," said Garrett.  
  
"No, I didn't mean-- No, that's all right," Vincent smiled, stepping away from the door. "Listen, any time you want to stop by, for whatever, you know," he stumbled through his offer.  
  
"I'll know where to find you," said Garrett, glancing up at the church.  
  
Later that evening, Vincent sat alone in the darkened church. He spread his arms out over the back of the pew, stretched out his long legs in front of him, and leaned his head back. He studied the curved beams of the vaulted ceiling, just barely visible in the yellow light given off by the hundreds of candles burning around him. His eyes felt dry and his head heavy. He slouched down a little more so that he could lean his head against the back of the pew, closed his eyes, and sighed deeply.  
  
This place, this town, this church, this was his home now. For better or worse. He knew that the Bishop and Father Mac both had their eye on him, but he didn't want to run away from himself anymore. In his first parish, in a well-heeled suburb of Sydney, he had made trouble by accusing the parishioners of greed, pride and hypocrisy. He realized now that, whatever faults they might have had, he was the one who had been greedy, proud, and hypocritical. Greedy for attention, proud of his status, and hypocritical in accusing them of being uncharitable when he had had nothing but scorn for them in his heart. He had been so naive, with a belly full of fire and nothing to burn.  
  
But rather than face up to his own shortcomings, he had pressed on, getting a posting to South America. He had had visions of becoming the next Che Guevara or Bishop Romero, leading the downtrodden underclasses to revolution and freedom, or at least garnering the Nobel Peace Prize for his devoted service. But things had turned out differently. Although he had done a great deal of honest work and good service among the communities he had been assigned to, once again, his ego had gotten the upper hand. But rather than stay there and mend the lives he had torn apart, he had asked to be re-assigned back to Australia. The Bishop in Brasilia hadn't known the entire story of what had happened in the Brazilian hinterlands, but he had recognized at the very least that Vincent needed a break, if only to get his problem with alcohol under control.  
  
Vincent thought painfully of the bundle of letters, written on thin blue paper, that he kept hidden in the dresser. That was his reminder of what his selfishness could do. Now he wondered whether he were heading down that same path again. If only he had someone he could really talk to. He wished Barry were still around, but he and Lyn had long since returned to Australia, and this wasn't the sort of conversation that one could have over the telephone.  
  
Avril turned off the desk lamp and pushed her chair back from the computer. She had been going over the figures and decided that she would have to accept Garrett's proposal, for better or worse. She was starting to see it as a challenge, to deal with him on a professional level and show him that he had no hold on her. She was his equal, and she wouldn't let a petty personal injury interfere with her dream of running a racing stables. It would be a good exercise in self-control for her. Self-control. Now there was something she had been using a lot of lately.  
  
She reflected on Vincent's words from earlier that day, '...as long as I accept it and make it mine, then it doesn't rule me. I'm the master, not the slave.' What would happen, she wondered, if she accepted her feelings for Vincent, rather than trying to push them down into the dark depths of her personal purgatory? Wouldn't it hurt her, to live with...what, love? Lust? Infatuation?...knowing that they could never be together? She stood up and walked over to the door. She gently took down the wooden beads that she had hung there earlier. She gathered them up and pressed them to her cheek, feeling the cool little bumps quickly turn warm against her skin. That was what Vincent meant to her: warmth. She stood there, alone in the dimly lit room, accepting the comfort and warmth that Vincent wanted to give her. 


	6. Do As I Say, Not As I Do

Vincent and Avril  
Chapter 6  
"Do As I Say, Not As I Do"  
by Margaret Pattison  
  
"You want me to give you what?" Avril led The Cat out of her stall and looked sideways at Vincent, her eyes squinting against the cool autumn sun.  
  
"Riding lessons," he repeated stubbornly, with a hopeful smile glued onto his face.  
  
She shifted her weight and put one hand on her hip. "What do you need to learn to ride a horse for?" she asked with more than a little curiosity.  
  
"Well, in case I ever needed to...you know, if there was ever..." He maintained his face while searching for a plausible reason. He hadn't expected that she would ask why he wanted lessons. He couldn't possibly tell her the real reason, although he reckoned she either knew already or would shortly figure it out.  
  
"A petrol shortage?" she suggested, raising one eyebrow.  
  
"Yeah," Vincent's grin broadened and he pointed at Avril, glad she was playing along. "See, it might really come in handy. For visiting the sick."  
  
"Or the lame," she offered.  
  
"Them especially," he agreed.  
  
Avril patted The Cat's flank. "I think we can arrange something," she said, smiling conspiratorially at Vincent.  
  
"Great," he said, relieved. "Hey," he said, pointing at The Cat's leg, "she doesn't look too bad."  
  
"No, she doesn't, does she?" Avril said hopefully. This would be the first time she would run The Cat hard since her injury. It was a perfect day for it, too. The weather was cool but not chilly, with fluffy white clouds skipping across the sky. She could tell the animal was looking forward to it, as she tossed her mane proudly and trotted along with a lightness and ease of step that reflected perfectly Avril's own mood. Her business wasn't out of the woods yet, but with The Cat recovering and Garrett's polo ponies due to arrive shortly, along with the first installment of their boarding fees, which she had already earmarked to pay Siobhan, there were two fewer things for her to worry about. And then there was Vincent. He stopped by several times a week, sometimes every day, just to talk or hang out and watch the early-morning practice sessions. Her heart always leapt when she recognized the figure in the black jacket standing by the fence, or when she opened her door to see his smile reflecting her own delight.  
  
Vincent leaned against the open green door to The Cat's stall and watched Avril as she looked the horse over from head to tail. He could see the joy and lightheartedness in her movements. He had noticed the change in her since the day Garrett had come by to visit. How he wished he had heard what words had passed between them, but all he knew for sure was that Garrett would be boarding two horses at the yard. He wondered if Avril's new mood came from the fact that Garrett were back in her life, in a manner of speaking. He wished that he had been the one to ease her burdens, but he took comfort in the thought that maybe he had laid the groundwork for Avril's reconciliation with Garrett, if indeed they had had one.  
  
In fact, easing Avril's financial burden was the reason behind him wanting to take riding lessons. He thought that she might be pleased to have the extra income, and he figured that they were spending so much time together already, she might as well get paid for it. At least those were the reasons he gave himself. But if truth be told, he would never have come up with the idea if Garrett hadn't shown up, ready to write Avril a cheque. How could he compete with that? Why did he even feel the need to? On the other hand, he considered, maybe she didn't need him anymore. She seemed to be well on her way to opening herself up to her past and her emotions. Maybe this idea with the riding lessons would just be a waste of her time.  
  
Satisfied that The Cat was ready, Avril started toward the tack room. "Wait right there," she called over her shoulder to Vincent. "You're about to have your first lesson." This would be fun, she thought as she walked to the stall where the equipment was kept. After all that Vincent had done for her, now she would be able to teach him something. Of course she wouldn't accept a penny from him. She didn't believe that he really wanted to learn to ride a horse for the riding's sake, or for the love of the animal, although he clearly knew how to appreciate good horse flesh. She reckoned this was just another ploy to spend time with her, but she didn't mind. She smiled to herself. It just showed how far she had come. A few weeks ago, the thought that Vincent would use a trick to spend time alone with her would have caused a furious reaction in her. Had, in fact. But now she was attempting to accept what she understood to be Vincent's affection for her, however he chose to express it, and to allow herself to feel affection in return. It felt good. Like a synergetic feedback loop.  
  
She picked up the trunk and carried it back to where Vincent was waiting. He was standing next to The Cat, rubbing her nose. "You might want to take your jacket off," she suggested.  
  
Vincent turned toward her. "Hey, listen, I didn't mean-- I mean, you don't need to waste your time on me," he said humbly.  
  
"Don't be silly," she said straightforwardly. "You've spent enough time here when you could have been practicing with the choir."  
  
"There is no choir," he reminded her with a wink and a nod.  
  
"Thank God," Avril rolled her eyes. "With that voice of yours..." she teased.  
  
"Hey, what's wrong with my voice?" he protested good-naturedly, unzipping his jacket.  
  
"I'm sure I wouldn't know. And anyway," she nodded toward the horse, "she needs to be brushed down. Whether I do it alone or you do it with me, won't matter to her." She put the trunk down, opened it up and selected a brush.  
  
Vincent tossed his jacket over the stall door and rolled up the long black sleeves of his priest's shirt. "So is this the part where the great karate master makes the apprentice wash his windows and paint his fence?"  
  
"What?" Avril asked in confusion.  
  
"Never mind. I take it this exercise has something to do with strengthening my wrists to hold the reins, or learning about the horse's anatomy."  
  
"No, you dope, this has to do with taking proper care of a horse." She tossed the brush to Vincent. "You respect her, she'll respect you."  
  
Vincent caught the brush awkwardly and turned it over, trying to decide on the best way to hold it. He spanned the back with his hand and held it up questioningly. "Like this?" he asked.  
  
"No, see that strap on the back. You slide your hand through that so you have a better grip. Here," she said, stepping close to him. "Like this."  
  
Vincent surrendered his hand to Avril as she maneuvered the brush onto it. She had long, round, nimble fingers that were surprisingly soft for the amount of physical work she must have done. Her hands felt cool to him as she slid the strap firmly over his hand.  
  
"Now watch," she said. She picked up another brush, put it on her own hand, and started running it over The Cat in long, even strokes. Then she stopped and gestured for Vincent to come over. "Now you," she said.  
  
Vincent stepped up to the horse and gave her a few gentle strokes.  
  
"That's good, but harder."  
  
"I don't want to hurt her," Vincent protested.  
  
"I know," Avril said patiently, "but you've got to be firm and confident. Look." She reached out for Vincent's hand and guided him in the amount of pressure to use. "If she knows you have no experience, she'll never perform for you."  
  
Vincent stopped moving his hand and looked intently at Avril. "And is that what I want? For her to perform?"  
  
Avril's hand was still resting on Vincent's. She met his gaze and held it for a few seconds. Then she explained slowly, "You want her to know who's in charge. Your confidence will give her confidence. If you're scared of her, or afraid you might do the wrong thing, you'll never get anywhere." She dropped her hand and nodded toward the horse. "Now brush."  
  
As Vincent worked, he tried to figure out what was going on with Avril. Here he had painstakingly avoided any physical contact with her whatsoever, no matter how trivial, for weeks, ever since the foaling, on the assumption that she was averse to it. But now in the space of a very few days, she had deliberately reached out to him twice, although both instances had gone unacknowledged by either of them. Once in handing the car key back to him, she had let her fingers linger on his palm for a split second longer than would have been necessary. He had been attuned to that split second, as he was attuned to everything about her presence. And now, even if it had been necessary to guide him in his first attempts with grooming, those few extra seconds when she had left her gentle fingers on the back of his hand and looked deeply into his eyes must have meant something. And what she had said. Was she really just talking about a horse?  
  
Avril stood working on The Cat's other side, out of Vincent's view. Had she gone too far? She was the one who was in danger of scaring him off, not the other way around. After all, she had decided that she would have to live with the pleasure she got simply from being around Vincent, and not try to make it anything more. No, that was wrong. She didn't just "have to live with it", as if it were a thing to be grudgingly put up with. She welcomed it, drank it in, reveled in it. But at the same time, she was becoming more and more uncomfortable with the fact that she hadn't told him how she felt. She still thought (hoped) that he felt the same way. And she was still afraid of what an open discussion on the topic would yield.  
  
*****  
  
It seemed like the whole town was at Fitzgerald's that night when Vincent came back after celebrating the evening Mass for a sparse congregation. So that's where they all had been, he thought. He walked up to the bar and tried to catch Oonagh's attention, but she was bustling in and out of the kitchen and only had time to call out, "Be with you in a moment, Father."  
  
Vincent turned to Edso, who happened to be the closest. "What's going on?" he asked.  
  
"Ah, some club or other in town for the day," he mumbled.  
  
"Club?"  
  
"Sure, touring or birdwatching or something. It's been pretty busy round here."  
  
"Didn't notice," he said distractedly, looking around for Oonagh.  
  
"Well they weren't here for the horses."  
  
"Sorry?" Vincent focused on Edso again, trying to parse what he had just said.  
  
"Nothing," Edso said sullenly.  
  
Vincent dismissed the comment without another thought, but got the drift that Edso wasn't up for a chat that evening. Of all the young men in the village, Edso was the most difficult for him to warm up to. In fact, he couldn't remember having had a single meaningful conversation with him.  
  
Oonagh passed by, carrying a full tray of drinks. "What can I get you, Father?" she asked over her shoulder.  
  
"Soup and some bread'll be fine, Oonagh," he called to her over the din. "And a coffee," he added, pointing over their heads to the far end of the bar, where Brendan was standing, gazing off into the middle distance.  
  
Oonagh waved and nodded to him to indicate that she had understood before moving on to the next table.  
  
Vincent made his way down the bar, working the room as he went. Hey, missed you last Sunday, Bernie. No hard feelings, eh Father? Nah. How're the twins, Brian? Eight already! Evening, Violet, nice to see you out again. Finally, he landed at his destination and squeezed in between Brendan and Donal.  
  
"Evening, fellas," he said to Donal and Liam, who were deeply engrossed in scoping out two young ladies at a side table. They acknowledged his presence with a brief, "Father," without taking their eyes off the women. Vincent smiled and turned to the man on the other side of him. "Good evening, Brendan," he said amicably.  
  
Brendan continued to stare into the distance. Vincent looked at the spot that he gauged Brendan's gaze to be fixed on, but saw nothing of particular interest. He looked Brendan up and down. "Didn't turn around and look at Gomorrah by mistake, did you?" he joked, nudging Brendan with his elbow.  
  
Brendan snapped out of his reverie. "What?" He slowly focused his eyes on Vincent. "Oh. Good evening, Father."  
  
"Didn't mean to interrupt you," Vincent apologized.  
  
"What? Oh, no," Brendan smiled and tapped the newspaper crossword lying on the bar top in front of him. "Just trying to think of an eight- letter word for 'Being true to Cuba'." He squinted his eyes at Vincent. "Ring a bell?"  
  
"Can't say that it does," Vincent admitted.  
  
"Me either," Brendan sighed.  
  
"Hey, what's up with Edso?" Vincent glanced toward Edso, who was morosely studying his glass.  
  
"Hm? I've no idea," said Brendan disinterestedly.  
  
Donal turned halfway around and looked over his shoulder at Vincent and Brendan. "Edso? Oh all he needs is a girl," he said wisely.  
  
Liam gave up on trying to make eye contact with the girls and spun around to face the others. "Don't we all," he leered. He caught Vincent's amused expression and added solemnly, "Oh, present company excepted of course, Father." Then he delivered his punch line, "Seeing as you've got one already!" He guffawed at Donal, who looked confused. Liam leaned over and whispered something into Donal's ear, which made him giggle and look down.  
  
Vincent couldn't let that remark go unanswered. "Here, what do you mean by that," he asked with a polite smile pasted onto his face.  
  
"Oh nothing, nothing, sure what would I mean by that?" Liam assured Vincent with a studied innocence. He and Donal exchanged a look and burst out in malicious laughter again. Liam looked around toward the more crowded end of the pub and said eagerly to Donal, "Hey, I think I see a couple of unattended ladies down there." He turned to Vincent for his parting shot. "Excuse us, some of us is still in the trenches you know," he said as he hopped off his bar stool.  
  
Vincent turned to Brendan. "What was that all about?" he asked, slightly dazed.  
  
Brendan had followed the exchange in silence. Now he watched as Liam sauntered away with Donal in tow and considered whether to stick his neck out.  
  
Oonagh arrived with Vincent's meal and set it on the bar top before him. "Anything else?" she asked both of them.  
  
"You wouldn't happen to have any fresh grapes back there, would you, Oonagh?" Brendan asked.  
  
Oonagh looked slightly bewildered, but answered regretfully, "Fraid not. Did you want some?"  
  
"It's just that Liam and Donal seem to have gotten some sour ones," he said, raising his eyebrows and giving Vincent a knowing look.  
  
Oonagh waved off Brendan's silliness and walked away.  
  
"Am I in the twilight zone?" Vincent asked Brendan with a furrowed brow. "It's like everyone's in on the joke but me."  
  
Brendan knew that it was beneath him to reply that Vincent was the joke, so instead he said, "Father, how would you like to go fishing with me tomorrow?"  
  
*****  
  
Vincent cast his line into the dark green water of the Angel. "How's Siobhan?"  
  
"Doing well," Brendan answered optimistically. "I think that cancer scare really brought home to her how important family is."  
  
"Have you ever thought of getting married?" Vincent asked with the hint of a suggestion in his voice.  
  
Brendan turned halfway toward Vincent and looked at him from under his fishing hat. "You know, we have. Once we even made it as far as the altar before calling it off."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Brendan looked out at the play of the early morning sun on the river. "We decided we were better off just being friends," he answered without regret.  
  
"I'd think that'd be the best basis for a good marriage."  
  
Brendan paused thoughtfully before answering, "Maybe."  
  
They watched the river flow past for a minute. Vincent wondered if that was what Brendan had wanted to discuss with him, his relationship with Siobhan. They did seem to be treating each other more kindly and with more consideration in recent weeks.  
  
"What about you?" Brendan asked suddenly.  
  
"What? What about me?"  
  
"Ever think of getting married?"  
  
"What?" Vincent squawked as if that were the most ridiculous thing in the world.  
  
"I don't mean now," Brendan said soothingly. "I mean ever, you know, before you became a priest."  
  
Vincent looked at the point where his fishing line disappeared into the water. "I was too young to think about marriage then."  
  
"But not too young to get married to the church," Brendan pointed out.  
  
"That was different, I was full of ideals, ready to charge off and change the world."  
  
"And have you?"  
  
Vincent looked sideways at Brendan. "You tell me," he replied with the hint of a smile.  
  
Brendan grinned at Vincent's humour. "And now?"  
  
Vincent sighed. "Now I still have those ideals, but I've learned you can't change the whole world at once, you have to do it one person at a time, starting with yourself."  
  
That seemed like the perfect opening for Brendan to bring up the subject that he had actually wanted to discuss with Vincent. "And Avril? Are you working on changing her?" he asked as nonchalantly as possible.  
  
Vincent shook his head, disappointed. So that was the point of this talk. He turned to Brendan and challenged him, "So Brendan, what do you want to know? Am I sleeping with her? No."  
  
"I'm not trying to judge you, or her, Vincent," Brendan said defensively. "And I believe you. Really. It's just that, well, there was that incident the night you were minding Aisling. And there's been talk."  
  
"Sticks and stones, Brendan."  
  
"I know. But I'm not asking just out of idle curiosity either."  
  
"Then why?"  
  
Brendan exhaled through his nose. "You know the story of Father Clifford? Was curate here a few years ago?"  
  
"No, what about him?"  
  
"He was a good friend. We all liked him. Very much. And some of us, one of us, liked him more than that."  
  
"A woman?" Vincent ventured.  
  
"Assumpta Fitzgerald."  
  
"Of Fitzgerald's?" Vincent asked in surprise.  
  
"The same."  
  
"But she died, didn't she?" Of course he had heard of the tragedy, but mainly in the context of how her sudden demise had sent the ownership of the pub into limbo.  
  
"She did," he confirmed sadly.  
  
"You don't mean that had something to do with this Father Clifford?" Vincent said in surprise.  
  
"No, no," Brendan rushed to assure him, "it was a freak accident."  
  
"But she had been in love with him."  
  
"Yes. And he with her."  
  
"So had they been having an affair?"  
  
"Well, nobody knows for sure, but I think not. I think that both of them fought against their feelings for a long, long time, until it was too late. Then when she died, Peter, that is, Father Clifford, was so distraught that he left town virtually the next day, his faith in shambles."  
  
"Well he should never have let himself get pulled in. He should have kept his distance," Vincent said virtuously.  
  
"Maybe," Brendan shrugged. "Or maybe he didn't realize how close he had gotten to her until it was too late."  
  
"So are you telling me I've gotten too close to Avril?"  
  
"I like you, Vincent. I don't know what goes on behind closed doors, and it's none of my business. I just don't want this town to lose another good priest. The church is going to be scraping the bottom of the barrel pretty soon."  
  
"Thanks a lot, Brendan!" Vincent protested goodnaturedly.  
  
*****  
  
The horse danced back and forth, shook her head and snorted, displeased. Vincent pulled harder on the reins in an attempt to get control, while he kicked at the horse with his heels to make her move forward.  
  
"No, no," Avril cried, "you can't pull back on the reins and kick at the same time!"  
  
Vincent stopped all his efforts, letting the reins go slack. The horse snorted again and shook her head to feel the loose reins slap against her neck, then nodded calmly and stamped. "Now what did I do wrong?"  
  
Avril walked up to them and patted the horse's neck to reassure her. "She doesn't know whether you want her to stop or go."  
  
"Go," Vincent declared.  
  
Avril felt slightly frustrated that she wasn't getting through to him. "But you send mixed signals. A horse is trained to follow a few simple, specific commands, and if everyone plays along, it's all well and good. But if you pull to the left while leaning to the right, what's she going to think?"  
  
"I'm Tony Blair?" Vincent suggested with a hopeful grin. Why couldn't she just lighten up?  
  
"Ha ha," Avril said dryly. Sometimes she thought he wasn't taking things seriously enough. She looked around, trying to order her thoughts and find a way to explain herself. "I mean, even if you keep the reins straight and steady, but then you start waving good-smelling clover around behind her or you touch her in a way that gives her a different message, then how's she going to know what to do?" She stopped to catch her breath, as she was starting to get a little worked up, and stared up at Vincent, for he was giving her the oddest look.  
  
Vincent all of a sudden was getting the distinct feeling that Avril wasn't talking about riding a horse at all. In a flash, it all became clear to him. The looks, the gestures, the reactions. He had been so concerned about keeping his own involvement with Avril under control that he had been, if not blind, then at least discounting toward how deep she was getting in. He looked at her with a mixture of self-reproach, sympathy, regret, and love. He did love her; how could he not, after all that they had shared. But he wasn't calling his vocation into doubt.  
  
"Maybe I need to go over those commands again," Vincent said quietly. "Can we call it quits for today?"  
  
Avril nodded. That look he had given her gave her shivers, in a profoundly gratifying way. It was an image that would stay with her. "I'm sorry, I know it's a lot to remember," she said sympathetically, getting back to the instruction. "We can go slower."  
  
Vincent carefully dismounted and looked over the horse's back at Avril. "I don't know, maybe it's something I'm just not cut out for."  
  
"No no, don't give up," she protested. She wanted to encourage him to continue. He genuinely seemed to enjoy being around the animals. "You'll get there." She hesitated before adding, "If it's something you really want." She knew that Vincent had no real need to learn to ride, and could most certainly use his time to do more service around the parish. But at the same time, she wanted him to feel that he belonged here, too.  
  
"It is," Vincent assured her firmly and with complete sincerity. "But sometimes there are more important things in life than what we want."  
  
That statement seemed a little too philosophical to apply to horseback riding, to Avril's mind. Was he saying that he wanted her? Avril tried to look at him more closely, to read his expression, but he was already walking around toward the corral gate.  
  
Vincent was deep in thought as he walked back to town from the yard that afternoon. There was no doubt in his mind that Avril was attracted to him beyond what he could in all good conscience give to her. In another time and place...but it didn't do anyone any good to think about that. What should he do now? Ask for a transfer? He didn't think that it would take much to convince the Bishop to ship him back out to Australia.  
  
Frankie's patrol car passed by and pulled over just in front of him. "Father Sheahan," she greeted him as she got out. "Can I give you a lift?" She stood by the open door and leaned one arm on the roof of the car.  
  
Vincent walked up to the car. "Thanks, Frankie," he said tiredly. "I think I'd rather walk."  
  
Frankie noticed that he wasn't his usual chipper self. "Anything wrong?" she asked with friendly concern.  
  
"Just...you know, priest stuff," he tried to placate her.  
  
"Priest stuff. Sure," Frankie said neutrally. She didn't believe him, but didn't want to get too nosy. She knew he was coming back from Avril's place. "Listen, Father, if you ever want to talk," she offered open- endedly.  
  
Vincent appreciated the gesture, but this was definitely not something that he could discuss with Guard Frances Sullivan. "Thanks, Frankie, maybe another time," he said kindly.  
  
"You know, even Doc Ryan sees a doctor in Cilldargan when he's sick," Frankie said sagely.  
  
Should he talk to Father MacAnally? There had been some rare moments of understanding between the two men. And Father Mac was certainly more experienced. Maybe it would help to discuss things with him. On the other hand, Vincent already knew how Father Mac felt about the whole Avril situation and couldn't expect him to be all that sympathetic. "Yeah, I might do that," Vincent said noncomittally to Frankie and continued on his way.  
  
When he got back to town, Vincent went straight to the church and knelt down in prayer. If ever he needed guidance, now was the time. He tried to clear his mind of the day's events and remember the words of the prayer he wanted to say.  
  
"Lord," he whispered, "Grant that I may always allow myself to be guided by You, always follow Your plans, and perfectly accomplish Your holy will. Grant that in all things, great and small, today and all the days of my life, I may do whatever You may require of me. Help me to respond to the slightest prompting of Your grace, so that I may be Your trustworthy instrument. May Your will be done in time and eternity, by me, in me, and through me. Amen."  
  
He remained so, letting his consciousness float in the cool dank air of the old Irish church. He had a strong conviction that God was still blessing his work here. There was no reason for him to give that up. He was still invigorated by serving the community, as much as he was by being with Avril, maybe even more. She was certainly an enrichment to his life, but he knew that he could live without her and not be devastated. Not for long, anyway. He would survive. But what would it do to him to lose his position in the church? That was something he had fought tooth and nail to keep all these years, despite his many mistakes, shortcomings, and run-ins with the hierarchy. He hoped that it wouldn't come down to that, having to choose between Avril and the church. He knew that he would choose the church, but at what personal cost, to both of them?  
  
Vincent turned around when he heard the church door open. He quickly made out the familiar figure of Father Mac limping toward him. Was this his godsend? He stood up to make his presence known.  
  
"Ah, Father Sheahan," Father Mac said pleasantly when he spotted Vincent near the front of the church. "A little bird told me you might welcome an open ear."  
  
Vincent nodded and smiled to himself. "Frankie."  
  
"She said it was 'priest stuff'. Trouble with a parishioner?"  
  
"No, no trouble." Yet. That's what he was trying to avoid.  
  
Father Mac sat down with some effort in a pew a couple of rows behind Vincent and waited.  
  
Vincent sat down, too, and looked up at the altar. Jesus had suffered a man's anguish, surely, at the thought of people He loved getting hurt for His sake. Vincent felt certain that He empathized with Vincent's dilemma. Not that Vincent considered his situation in any way similar to what the Lord had suffered. It was just that he needed desperately to talk to someone, and other than God, Father Mac was the only one around here who would keep his mouth shut. Even if it was only to protect his and the church's reputation. He hoped that the older priest would also be able to muster at least a sliver of understanding. He tried to think of a way to pose his question as a hypothetical situation, but found it to be impossible. Father Mac hadn't been born yesterday. He would know it was Vincent. Nothing like the truth.  
  
He kept his gaze steady on the statue over the altar and announced, just loud enough for Father Mac to hear, "Father, I love Avril Burke."  
  
Father Mac pursed his lips. So it had come to that. "Shall I hear your confession?"  
  
Vincent shook his head and looked down. "It's not like that."  
  
"I see," said Father Mac suspiciously. They had had this once before, hadn't they? "And what are you going to do about it?"  
  
"Nothing. I don't mean that I'm IN love with her, I just care very much for her, personally, and I don't want to see her get hurt."  
  
"Then you should keep your distance," Father Mac said sharply. "Maybe a transfer to somewhere else within the diocese would be just the thing. I know that the Bishop doesn't want to lose you." He said the last part with a grain of bitterness, knowing that the Bishop was at that very moment hurrying Father Mac's retirement along.  
  
"No, I'm not going to run away. Not this time," Vincent said, more to himself.  
  
This time? Father Mac thought to himself. Had there been other times? But he knew better than to ask about another priest's past. God forgives all. And the hierarchy will cover it up. "Father," the older man said with exaggerated patience, "I am only suggesting it for your own good. And hers."  
  
Vincent doubted that very much. He turned around in the pew to face Father Mac. "But that's just it," he explained matter-of-factly. "I don't think it would do either of us any good."  
  
"Don't you? I gather you're confiding in me to benefit from the wisdom of my years. I've seen it all, believe me. And in your case, a transfer is the only sure way of averting a catastrophe."  
  
By this time, Vincent could see that Father Mac was not going to be in any way sympathetic to either him or Avril. Just out of curiosity, he asked, "What would be a catastrophe, in your eyes?"  
  
"You need to ask?" Father Mac nearly roared. "Temptation, scandal, a fallen priest, broken vows," he thundered. Then he lowered his voice to express the most loathsome thing that could befall a clergyman: "Sex."  
  
"Don't you care about people's feelings?"  
  
"A priest has no feelings," said Father Mac harshly.  
  
"A priest is still a man," Vincent reminded him.  
  
"A priest is a man of the cloth, a man of God," said Father Mac haughtily. "His feelings have no place here."  
  
"And Avril?"  
  
"Ms Burke, as a divorced woman, has made her own bed. Let her lie in it. Alone!" And with that, he stood as quickly as his stiff joints would let him and awkwardly maneuvered himself into the aisle. He stood and delivered his final word to Vincent. "If you don't take this situation in hand and put an end to it, then mark my words, I will!"  
  
*****  
  
Vincent stopped and rested his arms on the top of the rough-hewn wooden fence next to the road. He looked out across the rocky field with its long late-afternoon shadows. The country here was superficially quite different from what he had known back in Australia, the contrast between the dry, scrubby, sun-bathed landscape of his homeland and the verdant green, wet panorama of this island nation being the most striking. But underlying the surface dissimilarity was a basic kinship of type. Both lands were still wild, rough places where you could get lost...or find yourself.  
  
Avril leaned her back against the fence and put her hands into her jacket pockets. She inhaled deeply and took in the odor of damp earth and decaying greenery. When Vincent had stopped by the yard that afternoon, she had noticed right away that it wasn't one of his usual friendly visits. He had seemed a little tense, and she had agreed right away to temporarily turn over the supervision of the yard to John Joe so that she and Vincent could take a stroll down the road behind the stables. She suspected that this wasn't just a casual walk in the countryside, but she really didn't know what Vincent had on his mind.  
  
Vincent felt nervous. His heart was beating at an accelerated pace and his hands were trembling slightly. He had never told anyone this before, outside of the confessional. But he didn't want to be the cause of anyone else's pain again. He cleared his throat and tried to keep his voice steady. "Can I tell you a story?"  
  
"Is this going to be one of those agricultural parables?" Avril asked skeptically.  
  
"No," Vincent laughed, glad for the release. "No seeds, no vineyards-- "  
  
Avril rolled her eyes. "Lord knows I've gone through enough of those," she said.  
  
"Right. Anyway," he turned more serious. "True story. There was a man...well, actually, he was a priest, but he sometimes forgot that and so let's just say he was a man."  
  
"Aren't all priests men?" Avril asked with a twinkle in her eye.  
  
Vincent wasn't up for banter, so he answered her straight, "Sure, but in this case it was his undoing."  
  
"What was," Avril asked quietly, getting the feeling that this wasn't going to be a funny story.  
  
"I'm getting there. So there was a man, and he was living in a place that was completely foreign to him. He was an outsider, didn't speak the language at first, but due to his job--"  
  
"Which was priest--" Avril interjected.  
  
"Right, which was priest," Vincent confirmed. "The people used to give him things, you know, food, little gifts, drink, whatever, make him feel at home, welcome."  
  
"Sounds like a nice place," Avril said with a gentle smile.  
  
Vincent smiled briefly, too. "It was. So he was living it up, officiating at weddings and staying on for the festivities, officiating at funerals and staying on for the wake, working with the people in their fields and getting swept along to their parties afterwards."  
  
"Party on."  
  
"Yeah, that's what the man thought too. Plenty of food, music, dancing." Vincent looked Avril in the eye and spoke with emphasis, "And drink."  
  
"Drink," Avril repeated solemnly.  
  
"Drink," Vincent confirmed. "And...women. Women and girls."  
  
Avril thought she could see where this was going, but she remained silent. She got the sneaking feeling that Vincent was speaking of himself, especially since he had mentioned the drink. But the part about the women was new to her.  
  
Vincent tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. He shivered slightly and looked down. "Well you can imagine what happened. Good-looking young man with a certain amount of social leverage, too much alcohol, looking for acceptance, dark, close quarters, pretty girl..."  
  
"Yeah, I think I can fill in the blanks," Avril murmured sympathetically.  
  
"But the worst part is," Vincent closed his eyes in pain at the memory, "the worst part is, the man didn't have the decency once he was sobered up to face up to his mistake and try to make amends, but he kept getting drunk and doing it again and again." He gripped the top rail of the fence with both hands and squeezed the prickly wood hard.  
  
Avril raised one eyebrow and looked at Vincent intently. "So it was the alcohol, was it?" she asked sharply.  
  
"No," Vincent said firmly and a little too loudly, releasing his grip. He straightened up and met Avril's gaze. "It was the man's weakness. His ego. The alcohol was just an excuse, and then it became his problem as well." He looked out across the field. Overhead, a flock of swallows was wheeling in perfect unison.  
  
Avril waited a few seconds before softly prompting, "So what happened?"  
  
Vincent flicked his eye toward Avril, then looked down again. "The man remembered he was a priest. The girl was in love. Her life was over."  
  
"You don't mean-- I mean, she didn't..." Avril asked in horror.  
  
"Kill herself? No, but she might as well have. Or rather, he might as well have."  
  
"How do you mean?"  
  
"She thought he was going to give her a life."  
  
Avril thought about this for a moment. Actually, it wasn't completely unlike her situation with Garrett. She had thought that Garrett was her life, but when he had left, she had had to make her own way. Although, she admitted, he had never taken advantage of her. And she certainly hadn't been an innocent victim. "And the priest?" she asked.  
  
Vincent gave her a bitter little smile. "He ran away. Got transferred. But he's still around somewhere."  
  
"Do you know him?" She still wasn't completely certain whether Vincent's story had been autobiographical or not. Maybe the priest had taken advantage of his sister. Or maybe it had really just been someone he had known.  
  
He shook his head slowly. "Not anymore."  
  
Avril and Vincent looked at each other. Avril saw that it had been difficult for Vincent to tell her. Her heart went out to him. She laid her hand gently on his sleeve. "Why did you tell me that story?" she asked.  
  
Vincent looked at his arm where she was touching him. He reached over and covered her hand with his. This time, hers was warm and comforting, and his was cold and clammy. "Because," he said simply, raising his head to look at her, "I'm a priest." That said it all. That told her that he had recognized her feelings for him, and perhaps his feelings for her, and that he was drawing a line between the two of them, a line that could never be crossed.  
  
Avril accepted that; it was nothing less than what she had expected all along. She slowly withdrew her hand and turned toward the field, resting her arms on top of the fence. Despite what was on the face of it a rejection, she felt jubilant and excited, relieved that they were finally having this conversation. But now she had to let him know that nothing had changed for her, and didn't have to for him either. "How old was the girl?" she asked.  
  
"Nineteen."  
  
"I'll be thirty next week. And I've already lived one life, and I'm well into my second lease all on my own," she said proudly.  
  
"Avril--" Vincent began to protest gently. Of course she wasn't the same person as Elena. But that didn't mean that she couldn't get hurt just as badly.  
  
"All I'm saying is," Avril continued, turning toward Vincent and holding up one hand to indicate that he should hear her out. "All I'm saying, is that...you're right. In telling me that story. You're right. But I'm not looking for anyone to give me a life. I'm happy. Now. With everything. The way things are now." Not that she would have been unhappy if Vincent had been free, but he wasn't, and it was no good dwelling on might-have-beens. Each day was a gift.  
  
Vincent had to smile when he heard her say that with a look of such deep caring on her face. "You seem happy," he said. It was true. She was much more at peace within herself, more able to handle stressful situations, than she had been when he had first met her.  
  
She smiled back at him. "I am."  
  
They understood each other. Neither one had anything to fear from the other. They were both free, not having to hide anything. They both knew, without having said it directly, that they shared a love that nothing else could take the place of.  
  
"I thought maybe it was because of Garrett," Vincent admitted, although now he saw that it had been himself, and Avril's renewed confidence in her own senses and abilities.  
  
"I am happy that I am past Garrett," she stated with conviction.  
  
"And Rosie?" Vincent asked tentatively.  
  
Avril smiled wryly. "Let's take one day at a time, eh?"  
  
Vincent grinned at her. She was going to be all right. "They don't come any other way." 


	7. Many Happy Returns

Vincent and Avril  
Chapter 7  
"Many Happy Returns"  
by Margaret Pattison  
  
"A salsa party?" Oonagh scrunched up her nose in confusion. "What does that have to do with horses?"  
  
"Nothing," Vincent replied. "I mean, it doesn't have to have anything to do with horses. I just thought the yard would be a nice venue. Nice open space, fields around, electrical connection--"  
  
"Manure, mud, manure..." Oonagh ticked off the additional amenities. "And what will Avril think? Giving over the yard for a church festival?"  
  
"Well, it's not exactly a church festival. More like a community activity." Vincent gave Oonagh one of his winning smiles. He didn't want to tell her that his original idea had been a birthday party for Avril. However, he had quickly realized that it wouldn't look too good for him to be throwing her a party, despite his general attitude that people should look less at what he did on his own time and more at what he did when he was wearing the collar. In any case, he had decided to turn it into a more or less public event, inviting Avril's friends and telling them to bring along their friends, too. "And Avril doesn't exactly know about it yet." He smiled even more broadly.  
  
"She doesn't know?" Oonagh asked, indicating that she thought that most unwise. "And when were you thinking of telling her? Say when the mariachi dancers were warming up in her living room?"  
  
"Mariachi's Mexican. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything to her just yet. I want to get everything set first."  
  
"So she can't say no," Oonagh surmised.  
  
Vincent grinned. Oonagh's mind worked along the same lines as his. "Exactly."  
  
"I'll talk it over with Paul and get back to you, OK?"  
  
"Thanks, Oonagh."  
  
*****  
  
Vincent was in Kathleen's shop, perusing the shoe polishes. His frequent visits to the yard were wreaking havoc on his shoes. He should probably just buy a pair of rubber boots and leave them up there. He heard the bell over the door tinkle and Father Mac greeting Kathleen. A moment later, he heard himself being hailed.  
  
"Father Sheahan, what's this I hear about a salsa festival?" Father Mac asked with distaste.  
  
Now who could have told him so quickly? Vincent figured he'd better get over to Avril's pretty soon, before she heard about it from someone else. He turned to Father Mac and replied innocently, "I don't know, what have you heard?"  
  
"That you are organizing a Brazilian dance party to be held at Ms. Burke's property," he said disapprovingly.  
  
"Well, that's probably a bit of an overstatement," Vincent said modestly. "Just a few friends getting together for a barbecue. Some music." He shrugged. "Might be dancing."  
  
Father Mac turned his back toward Kathleen, who was pretending to be busy at the counter, and tried to keep his voice low. "I thought I told you to keep your distance from her," he hissed.  
  
Vincent smiled politely and said evenly, "No, you told me to take care of the situation, and I have."  
  
Father Mac raised his eyebrows. "You have?"  
  
"I explained my position to Avril, how my vocation comes first, and she was quite agreeable." In fact she had been more than agreeable, she had seemed blissfully content. Not at all what he had expected, in fact. In his more intimate dealings with the females of the species he had found them to be emotional, unreasonable, temperamental, and unfathomable. Quite like Avril had been at first, in fact. But as they had grown closer, she had become calmer and gentler, although she still eluded his full understanding. It seemed that the more certain she was of where she stood with him, the happier she was, even though where she stood was not on a level with the church.  
  
"Well bully for you," Father Mac said unenthusiastically.  
  
"You're welcome to come," Vincent offered.  
  
"What?"  
  
"To the party."  
  
Wouldn't he just love to see how Vincent and Avril interacted in such a casual setting! But his presence might be misconstrued as a tacit approval of the entire affair. "I don't think so," he growled.  
  
*****  
  
When Vincent pulled up to the yard that afternoon, he had to park just outside the gate, as there was a double-wide horse trailer hooked up to a silver Range Rover blocking the entrance. Vincent hoped someone was dropping horses off, not taking them away. Avril really couldn't afford to lose any more clients. He grabbed the old ragged boots he had managed to scrounge out of the goodwill bin and changed into them before stepping out onto the dusty yellow gravel.  
  
He soon recognized with a mixture of relief (for Avril's business's sake) and discomfort (for his own sake) that it was Garrett, delivering the promised polo ponies. Avril's ex-husband stood in the middle of the yard, chatting comfortably with her as they watched a man whom Vincent didn't recognize walking one of the horses around on a lunge line to stretch its legs. At the far end of the yard, Liam and Donal were ostensibly working on putting up a wooden roof outside of the storage shed, although it looked like they were having an argument about which end of a hammer to use.  
  
Avril and Garrett turned around as Vincent approached them. Avril looked cheerful, Garrett smug. Vincent wondered what they had been discussing, remembering that Avril had assured him the previous week that she was "past" Garrett. But was Garrett trying to catch up to her? Vincent pointed toward the dark brown horse and said enthusiastically, "Hey, Garrett, so you finally made it down with your horses."  
  
Garrett held out his hand for Vincent to shake. "Good to see you again, Vincent," he said politely.  
  
Avril was a little nervous. Vincent hadn't been up to visit since their talk three days before, which was an uncharacteristically long absence for him. She had gotten the impression that everything would go back to normal between them, but maybe when he had said, "I am a priest," he had meant that he was going to keep his distance from her property as well as her body. She considered that that might be the only way for him to remain true to his vows, for that was what Avril had understood his position to be: that only his priestly vow of chastity prevented him from having a physical relationship with her. If so, if Vincent meant to keep his distance from her and the stables, Avril thought it was a shame, for it would mean the loss of a great friendship to both of them, but her respect for him precluded her trying to argue or change his mind. On the other hand, he was here now, and she was glad of it. She did look slightly askance at those boots he had his jeans tucked into, though. Where ever had he managed to dig up those from?  
  
"Vincent," she greeted him with a certain restraint. "What brings you to our neck of the woods?"  
  
Vincent squeezed Garrett's hand perfunctorily and turned to Avril. Her dark hair blew loosely around in the light breeze and she tucked it behind one ear. The motion brought her fingers into his focus, and he remembered how cool and gentle they had felt on his hand when she was showing him how to brush The Cat. The Cat. Horses. Riding lessons. That's why he was here. "Um, I thought you might have time for a lesson, but we can do it another time."  
  
A lesson? Garrett looked from Vincent to Avril. Was she still taking religious instruction? It was really none of his business anymore. If so, good for her. As long as it was really just that. He didn't have a good feeling about this priest's intentions. He was too superficial, too good- looking, and his reaction last week when Garrett had said that he and Vincent wanted the same thing had been just a nudge too suspicious. Not that Garrett had meant anything by it at the time. He had actually made the comment more in self-defense, meaning to indicate only that he had Avril's best interests at heart, which was true. But in the split second after he had said, "I think we both want the same thing," he had seen a stricken look pass across Vincent's face, which had turned into what appeared to be great relief when he had finished with, "To see Avril healthy and happy." Vincent had quickly beat his retreat to the church after that, leaving Garrett to ponder the meaning of his reaction, which seemed to him to be obvious: Vincent wanted Avril, and he thought that Garrett did, too. Garrett didn't see any reason to either confront him on the one point or correct him on the other. Not for now, anyway. But he would certainly say something if he saw that Avril were getting hurt.  
  
Avril felt her heart leap at Vincent's reminder of the riding lesson. It was true, it was the time when he usually came by. So things were to be the same between them after all. He must have just been busy the past couple of days, she thought with relief. She honestly didn't have the time at the moment, but she certainly wasn't going to send him away now. "No no no, listen," she said quickly, "we've just got to get the horses settled in and go over the instructions, shouldn't take that long, right Garrett?"  
  
Garrett could see whom Avril would rather spend her time with. He felt not a trace of jealousy or bitterness. But business was business. "I don't know, I'd like to give them some time to get used to the place, see how they're settling in before I leave."  
  
Vincent backed off a couple of steps. "Hey, no problem. I've got something to discuss with the fellas anyway," he said, indicating Liam and Donal, who had gotten the thing with the hammer figured out and were pounding away as if there were no tomorrow.  
  
"Yeah and, remind them that they're supposed to be fixing the roof, not putting more holes in it," Avril said, only half joking.  
  
Vincent walked over to the other end of the yard and stood behind Liam, who was holding the bottom of a ladder. At the top was Donal, who was leaning over as far as possible, waving his hammer at a nail just beyond his reach.  
  
"A little more, Donal, you've almost got it," Liam encouraged him.  
  
Donal stood on his toes and leaned even further over. He was able to get one good whack at the nail before he lost his balance and had to grab at the frame of the roof for support, dropping the hammer. It narrowly missed hitting Liam on the head and landed just centimetres from Vincent's toe. Both Liam and Donal looked down at the hammer, then up at Vincent. They simultaneously gave Vincent a congenial smile. "Father," they greeted him, as if nothing at all had happened.  
  
Vincent blinked and smiled at Donal, then at Liam. "Fellas." He looked dubiously up at the bare wooden frame. "Think that'll hold water?"  
  
"Course not," scoffed Liam. "The water'll run right off."  
  
"When we get the shingles on, that is," added Donal.  
  
"And when do you think that'll be?"  
  
Liam and Donal looked at each other and shrugged disinterestedly.  
  
"I'm only asking, cause there's going to be a party here in a couple of days, and it'd be nice to have the shelter finished in case it rains."  
  
"A party?" Their interest was awakened. "What party?"  
  
"A Brazilian salsa party."  
  
"Are we invited?"  
  
"Course you are. Actually, I have a special assignment for you, if you're interested."  
  
Liam suddenly turned shrewd. He hooked one elbow over the nearest rung on the ladder and squinted one eye at Vincent. "Assignment, eh? Any money in it?"  
  
"Money? Yeah," Vincent grinned slyly. "And more breasts than you're going to know what to do with."  
  
*****  
  
By the time Vincent had finished explaining to Liam and Donal what their role was to be, they were slightly less enthusiastic than they had been at first, but they agreed to help out. And they promised to get the roof finished in time, just in case of inclement weather.  
  
Vincent looked at his watch. It was getting late. He started toward Avril's office, where she and Garrett had repaired to in order to go over the paperwork. He passed by the stalls where the two new horses were housed. They had their heads out and were sniffing at the Wexford County air. They whinnied softly to each other and nodded at Vincent as he passed. He was glad for Avril that they were here. Garrett seemed to be a genuinely decent man. And the horses weren't just a ploy on Garrett's part, Vincent was pretty sure. Whether or not he had designs on Avril, he wasn't just playing around. Not like Vincent was doing with the riding lessons.  
  
Garrett came out of the office and turned around to talk to Avril, who remained standing in the doorway. They shook hands for a long time. Longer than necessary. Vincent was still too far away to hear what they were saying, but he saw that they were both smiling. Then Avril laughed gently. Well, good, Vincent thought stoically. Maybe they would get back together. Garrett could certainly offer Avril everything. Financial security, romance, a stable family life, children. All that Vincent could offer her was a ticket to heaven, and even that she wouldn't accept.  
  
Garrett waved to Vincent and walked to the Range Rover. The other man who had been lunging the horse earlier had already parked the horse trailer off to the side with the others and was waiting in the passenger seat. Vincent watched them as he ascended the steps to where Avril was standing. "Everything set?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah, looks good," she said cheerfully. They watched as Garrett started the car and pulled out of the gate. Avril gave a short sigh of satisfaction. "Sorry it took so long. Still have time for that lesson?"  
  
"Ah, actually, no I don't," Vincent said regretfully. "I've just got time to run back to the pub for dinner before I have to get back to the church." And he had really wanted to discuss the party with Avril today. Otherwise she'd be hearing it from others and that would just lead to aggravation.  
  
"Well hey, why don't you have something here," she suggested, nodding toward the kitchen. "It won't be like Oonagh's cooking, but I can fix you up quick so you can get on your way."  
  
Vincent leaped at the opportunity. "Great," he said gratefully, coming the rest of the way up the steps. "Actually, it'll be killing two birds with one stone. There's something I wanted to discuss with you." He stepped past Avril into the apartment he had briefly called home not all too long ago.  
  
"Oh?" Avril asked warily, following Vincent into the kitchen. Another revelation? she wondered to herself.  
  
Ten minutes later, they were sitting across the table from each other, with green salad and wedges of cheese omelet on their plates and thick slices of brown bread on a cutting board in the middle of the table. "Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?" Avril asked, picking up her fork.  
  
"Just a moment," Vincent murmured politely. He closed his eyes and folded his hands.  
  
Avril felt stupid. Of course he would want to say a blessing before eating. He was a priest, for God's sake. It was so easy to forget when he was out of uniform, as he was this evening. She waited until he opened his eyes again before apologizing. "I'm sorry--" she began.  
  
"No, hey, don't sweat it," he said goodnaturedly. "Looks good," he said, picking up his fork and knife.  
  
"Nothing fancy," Avril shrugged. She didn't really feel any need to impress Vincent with her cooking. She was running a racing stables, not a restaurant, after all.  
  
Vincent smiled at her, said, "I'm a man of simple tastes," and started eating.  
  
Avril was burning with curiosity to know what this matter was that Vincent wanted to discuss with her, but she restrained herself from asking again.  
  
"Do you like barbecue?" Vincent asked casually, after they had taken a few bites.  
  
"You mean like prawns on the barbie?" she teased.  
  
"Sure, or anything else."  
  
"Yeah, if someone else does all the work!"  
  
"How'd you like to have a barbecue here next week?" Vincent asked.  
  
"Barbecue? Here?" Avril was caught off guard. What was he talking about?  
  
"You wouldn't have to do anything," he assured her. "I'll take care of everything."  
  
"What for?"  
  
Vincent tried to make it sound as low-key yet attractive as possible. "Think of it...Brazilian chicken and beef barbecue, a little salsa music, a few friends, it'll be fun."  
  
An idea began to form in Avril's mind. "This wouldn't have anything to do with my birthday, would it?" she asked suspiciously.  
  
Vincent smiled and winked at her. "Nah."  
  
*****  
  
Vincent slipped the green chasible over his head in final preparation for the morning Mass and turned to the mirror to make sure it sat square on his shoulders. When he raised his arms, he noticed the dark purple speckles on the front where some of the sacramental wine had splashed up the last time he had worn this robe. He had forgotten to have it cleaned. He sighed and lowered his arms. It wasn't noticeable now, the spots hidden in the folds around his arms.  
  
Not for the first time, he thought how nice it would be to have an assistant to take care of such things. In the larger parishes, there were secretaries, vestry clerks, pastoral assistants, a veritable staff of lay workers to relieve the priest of the mundane tasks and give him more time for the real work of the gospel. On the other hand, the larger parishes also had larger congregations from which to draw such helpers, and more parishioners in need of the priest's attention.  
  
Vincent briefly considered, also not for the first time, whether the time he spent at Avril's yard, not to mention the extra time he had spent in the past few days planning the upcoming party, might not be better spent dealing with exactly such mundane tasks as taking his laundry to the cleaners. He couldn't afford to become neglectful of his primary calling. His justification, both to himself and to anyone who might ask, for the party at Avril's was, not entirely unreasonably, that a priest should be accessible to the people, not sit in the self-imposed solitude of the church, emerging only to distribute the sacrament and absolution. By becoming involved in community activities and mingling with the people, he was making it clear that he didn't consider himself any better than them, that although he was a servant of the Lord, he was also one of God's children.  
  
First thing tomorrow, he promised himself, he'd take care of the dry cleaning. On the way to picking up the grill, meat, decorations, tables, benches, and everything else he had arranged to purchase or borrow from various contacts between here and Dublin. It promised to be a long day. But at the end of it would come the reward. He exhaled and returned his focus to the Lord's Communion. He felt truly grateful and blessed, to be able to serve in this capacity. He didn't want to lose either his own faith or that of the flock in him.  
  
*****  
  
Liam and Donal were doing an admirable job of keeping up with demand, slapping steaks and pieces of chicken on the industrial-size open grill as fast as they were selling them. Vincent had posted himself next to them at the start of the evening, to make sure that the two didn't try to charge more than the at-cost price Vincent had set. Once things got going, he was sure that word would get around if the food started costing more than it had at the outset.  
  
The band was late, but Vincent hadn't been worried, used as he was to the Brazilian sense of time. He had found them through a priest in Dublin, and they had agreed to play for a fraction of their usual price after Vincent had gone to meet them and discovered that he had conducted the funeral of the grandfather of one of the band members. It was a small world. As it was, they were dear enough, and their fee had depleted Vincent's meagre bank account until the end of the month. But they were good. Already, the party-goers were tapping their toes and trying to catch on to the unfamiliar Latin rhythms. Some of the younger stable hands, fortified with Oonagh's guaraná punch, were shaking around with their giggling girlfriends down in front of the makeshift stage. What they really needed was someone who could show them how to dance.  
  
Vincent looked around the crowd and spotted Avril near The Cat's stall, chatting with Siobhan. She looked beautiful. Her black hair was pinned up in a sleek and elegant fashion, with little white flowers as accents. She said that Grainne had insisted on doing it for her. She had on a tight white top with a scoop neckline, and a thick shawl with long fringes wrapped around her shoulders against the chill. And, most uncharacteristic of all, she was wearing a long, dark skirt over her boots. Vincent hadn't had a chance to exchange more than a couple of words with her all evening, as they had both been busy working the crowd. She must have felt him looking at her, for at that moment she looked up, met his eyes across the yard and smiled secretively.  
  
Siobhan turned to see whom Avril was looking at, but the crowd had already shifted and Vincent was no longer visible. She directed her attention back at Avril. "Who was that?" she asked curiously.  
  
Avril played the innocent. "Hm? Who."  
  
"I saw that look. There's something going on, isn't there?"  
  
"Siobhan, there is nothing going on. Can't I look around at the guests at my own party without coming under suspicion?"  
  
Siobhan's eyes narrowed. "I thought it was Father Sheahan's party."  
  
Avril got flustered. It wouldn't look good if people found out it was her birthday. "Well, yes, he did organize everything, but after all it is my property, isn't it."  
  
Siobhan was amused at Avril's discomfiture. "So it's more of a partnership," she said, a smile playing on her lips.  
  
Avril laughed, "Siobhan, will you just lay off. Are you having fun or not?" she attempted to change the subject.  
  
"I'd be having more fun if that big oaf'd pull himself away from the punch bowl," Siobhan muttered, nodding her head toward Brendan, who had stationed himself in front of the table where Oonagh and Dermot were serving up the drinks.  
  
"How are things between you and Brendan?" Avril asked curiously.  
  
"You're awfully nosy for someone who won't even admit who she's looking at," teased Siobhan.  
  
"Come on, it's not like it's a secret that you've got a child together. And you brought up the topic," she continued defensively.  
  
"We're friends, yes, and we're both happy with the way things are. In fact, I'd say Brendan's my best friend. And a good father for Aisling. Why try to change the status quo?"  
  
"My sentiments exactly. This world would be a happier place if people would just be grateful for what they've got."  
  
"Amen."  
  
At that very moment, Oonagh was trying to get Brendan to move along so that she could serve some of the other guests, but he was holding forth on the parallels between Brazil's throwing off the yoke of the Portuguese monarchy and the Irish struggle for a free Republic. She was nodding her head with a glazed look in her eye while trying to hand a bottle of beer to Edso around behind Brendan when she froze. Her eyes widened and she forgot to release her grip on the bottle.  
  
Edso tried to pull it away from her. "I've got it, Oonagh," he assured her, winking at the vacuous blonde plastered to his side.  
  
A look of dismay came over Oonagh's face as she finally released the beer. "Uh oh. This doesn't look good."  
  
Dermot pointed and exclaimed gleefully, "It's Wandering Palms!" At that, everybody turned around to see what they were looking at.  
  
Garrett and Rosie had entered the yard. He looked debonair and poised, making his appearance as if it were he who was the guest of honor. Rosie, on the other hand, appeared tentative and nervous, clinging to Garrett's hand and practically trying to hide behind him. Her eyes skimmed the faces of the people nearest her, and she seemed relieved not to see Avril. She turned to Garrett and said something to him, and he murmured a reply without letting the crowd out of his sight.  
  
Brendan and Edso both looked questioningly from Dermot to Oonagh. "Who's that?" Brendan asked.  
  
"Avril's ex-husband, Garrett Burridge," Oonagh said grimly. "With girlfriend."  
  
"Ouch," commented Edso. "Not a friendly split, I take it."  
  
"You might say that," said Oonagh. "I don't know the whole story, but words were exchanged between them and Avril the last time they were here. They packed up and left in a hurry."  
  
"Burridge," Brendan mused. "Isn't he the one who bought the curate's house in town?"  
  
"Yeah," Dermot said with a gleam in his eye, "for a weekend love nest." He chortled until Oonagh gave him a stern look.  
  
Edso seemed concerned. "Well should we do something?" His date furrowed her plucked brow in a mirror of his own expression.  
  
But Brendan urged restraint. "Hold on, we don't know, maybe Avril invited them." He looked around at the others' skeptical looks. "As a gesture of goodwill," he tried to convince them.  
  
"More likely it was Father Sheahan," Dermot said slyly.  
  
The others looked startled, as if the thought would never have occurred to them, but now that it had been suggested, it seemed like it just might be true. Priests were always trying to reconcile people, weren't they? Or make it clear that the competition was no threat to them? With that in mind, Brendan, Edso, Oonagh, and Dermot began looking around eagerly for either Vincent or Avril. This promised to be interesting, in any event.  
  
Siobhan and Avril had already started toward the bar, in order to pull Brendan away from it. They noticed the small flurry of activity without recognizing its cause and hurried their steps out of curiosity. At the same time, Vincent, who was trying to keep an eye on the grill, the band, Avril, and the guests simultaneously, had picked up that something unusual was going on at the bar when he saw the four heads turning every which way, and he also made his way over.  
  
As soon as Vincent and Avril were spotted on their respective approaches, the friends at the bar turned to each other and studiously minded their own business.  
  
Siobhan and Avril arrived first. "Find what you were looking for?" Siobhan asked Brendan as she walked up to him and slid her arm around his waist.  
  
"What?" Brendan asked innocently. "I wasn't looking for anything."  
  
"Funny, it looked like you'd heard Stephen Tompkinson was making an appearance, and you were trying to catch a glimpse."  
  
"Nothing of the sort, I assure you," Brendan swore with a twinkle in his eye.  
  
"Good evening, Edso," Avril smiled warmly at the mechanic. "Thanks for coming."  
  
"Well you know me, I hear the word party and wild horses couldn't keep me away," Edso joked. Edso's date smiled blankly at Avril, but he didn't get a chance to introduce her, as just then Vincent joined the group.  
  
"What's going on here?" Vincent asked pleasantly, rubbing his hands together. "Everyone enjoying themselves?"  
  
"Oh, yes, lovely, Father," Oonagh assured him.  
  
"But the best is yet to come," Dermot whispered loudly, winking at Vincent and inclining his head nonchalantly in Garrett and Rosie's direction, who were also on their way over.  
  
Vincent and Avril exchanged quizzical looks, and then there was much clearing of throats to be heard. They looked around and found themselves face to face with Garrett and Rosie. The other guests nearby, stable hands, riders, trainers, and others who knew Garrett by sight, at least, fell silent, too, and whispered explanations were quickly exchanged.  
  
"I hope you don't mind, us stopping by," said Garrett confidently, glancing from Avril to Vincent. Rosie's face was pale and solemn, but her eyes looked hopeful.  
  
Avril swallowed. Now was the test. She had found she was able to deal with Garrett well now, especially on a business level. But she had purposely pushed all thoughts of him and Rosie together out of her head. It was still too tender an insult.  
  
Everyone held their breath. Not even Vincent said anything. It wasn't his place to speak for Avril. He knew this was a difficult moment for her, but she needed to face it.  
  
Garrett filled the tense silence by explaining, "I heard from the shopkeeper, what's her name, Katherine?..."  
  
"Kathleen," two or three voices chimed in.  
  
Garrett looked around at their audience and nodded in polite acknowledgement before continuing, "Kathleen, that there was a party here tonight, and when we drove by and saw so many cars parked outside, we thought two more wouldn't make any difference."  
  
Avril drew her shawl closer around her, tightened her jaw and raised her chin challengingly. Two more of anyone else wouldn't make any difference, but these two would. Vincent could see that Avril was wrestling with herself over how to respond. She probably wanted to snap at Rosie, maybe at both of them, but at the same time she seemed to be trying to keep calm. Or gathering her strength for the full frontal assault. He was standing close behind her, so he lifted one hand and touched her gently on the small of the back, a gesture which he deemed to be too subtle for the others to see in the semi-darkness, to remind her that he was there and to express his support for her.  
  
Avril felt the touch on her back and knew that it was Vincent. Her burgeoning anger was diluted by the warm intimacy of his presence. She knew that it wouldn't help anything for her to let loose with the words that were dammed up in her throat, but it was a supreme effort of will to hold back. She concentrated on the spot where Vincent's hand was and took a deep breath. "Not at all," she said a little stiffly. "I'm glad you came." And after having said it, she almost was. She felt a great relief at having passed that hurdle.  
  
Garrett smiled affectionately at Avril. He was proud of her. Maybe the priest was having a good influence on her after all. "Thanks," he said, and looked at Rosie, because he knew there was something she wanted to say, too.  
  
Rosie's eyes were wet. She took a step away from Garrett and toward Avril. "Oh Avril," she said, her voice full of emotion. She reached out to Avril tentatively, but then let her hand fall when Avril involuntarily hugged her arms closer against her body. "I'm so...I just wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday," she whispered, smiling through her tears.  
  
Avril stiffened, looking daggers at Rosie. Vincent dropped his hand from her back.  
  
"Birthday?" said Edso accusingly. "You didn't say anything about a birthday."  
  
"Is it your birthday, Avril?" asked Siobhan with surprise.  
  
"Yes," she said through her teeth, not removing her eyes from Rosie.  
  
Rosie looked hurt and unsure. "What, I..." she stammered, "I thought that's what this was all about."  
  
"If I'd known it was your birthday, I would have brought you a present," Edso said fretfully.  
  
"Did you know it was Avril's birthday, Father?" Brendan asked pointedly.  
  
Vincent blinked calmly. "Yes," he said. Now that the cat was out of the bag, no more explanation was necessary. Everyone looked awkwardly from Vincent to Avril.  
  
Rosie backed away from Avril, who had closed her eyes and narrowed her lips to a thin line. "I...I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."  
  
Garrett came to her rescue. "Hey, we didn't know it was a secret. We just figured, party, Avril's yard, birthday."  
  
Avril opened her eyes and gave Garrett a saccharin smile. "Well it was just a coincidence," she said.  
  
"A happy one," Brendan commented meaningfully.  
  
"It's not so bad, Avril," Oonagh tried to comfort her, misinterpreting the reason for her reaction. "I've got quite a few years on you, and I'm still in my prime."  
  
"Me, too," Siobhan piped up. "Life begins at forty, isn't that right, old man?" She nudged Brendan in the ribs.  
  
"Oh is that what that was?" Brendan joked. "I thought it was a hernia."  
  
The others laughed at that. Avril relaxed somewhat with the conversation turning to age rather than the reason for the party. "Look," she said to Garrett. She still wasn't up to speaking directly to Rosie. "Look," she said grudgingly, "you're welcome to stay, have some food, whatever. It's a free country, right?" She looked around and addressed the assembled gawkers, "And what are you all standing around for? Go, dance, it's not every night this place turns into the Copacabana!"  
  
Seeing that there weren't likely to be any deaths or catfights that evening, the rest of the guests drifted back to their own conversations, but not before several of them had come up to Avril to congratulate her. She accepted their well wishes with a formal grace. Vincent stood off to the side and observed her. It was turning into her evening, which was as it should have been from the beginning. However, Vincent had to admit to himself, although everyone here tonight thought positively of Avril, there was no one whom she would consider a close friend, not Siobhan, not Edso, and certainly, at least at the moment, not Garrett or Rosie. Vincent was the only one who had managed to connect with her, and he was the only one who couldn't stand next to her, embrace her, and kiss her on the cheek, as so many of these half-recognized acquaintances were doing. It did cause a certain amount of resentment in him, against the society and the hierarchy that ruled his conduct.  
  
Brendan moved over to where Vincent was standing alone. "Too bad," he mused, watching Avril, too.  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"That she didn't want anyone to know about her birthday," Brendan explained.  
  
"Mm," Vincent grunted noncommittally.  
  
Brendan sneaked a glance at Vincent. "Excepting yourself, of course."  
  
"One of the privileges of having access to the parish records, Brendan," Vincent stated.  
  
"So this whole thing was just a coincidence, was it," Brendan said, gesturing around at the decorated yard with his glass.  
  
Vincent nodded firmly. "Absolutely."  
  
"Because how would it look, you, a priest, organizing a birthday party for a certain one of your non-church-going parishioners."  
  
Vincent turned to Brendan and asked, a little irritated, "I don't know, Brendan, how would it look?"  
  
Brendan spoke carefully and with understanding. "It would look, like you cared about her."  
  
Garrett and Rosie were also hanging back and conferring quietly, and when the crowd around Avril had diminished somewhat, they approached again.  
  
"Look, Avril, we'd like to apologize for causing any unpleasantness," Garrett said gallantly. "It certainly wasn't our intention."  
  
"I know," Avril said coldly.  
  
"I'm sorry I mentioned about your birthday," Rosie said, subdued. "But, well, now that it's out, I wanted you to have this." She took a slim box out of the pocket of her lambskin coat and held it shyly out to Avril. "It's a pair of riding gloves," she explained, keeping her eyes focussed somewhere on Avril's neck.  
  
"Thanks," Avril muttered as she forced herself to take the box. She sincerely hoped Vincent was around somewhere, since it was more for his sake than for anyone else's that she was being so civil, but she didn't dare look around for him now.  
  
"Well," Garrett said finally, as no further conversation seemed forthcoming from either of the sisters. "I'll just check in on Steely and Mr. Tibbs," he said, referring to the two horses he had brought by earlier, "and then we'll be on our way." He looked at Rosie for confirmation, but she didn't respond one way or the other.  
  
"Fine," Avril said bruskly. She had had enough of being the courteous one. If they wanted to leave, she wouldn't try to change their minds. Garrett and Rosie's presence was becoming more and more of an irritant to her.  
  
The rest of the evening passed without incident, with Avril and Vincent keeping at a studious distance from one another. The punch was polished off, the barbecue died down, the band finished their last set, and the last few guests wandered happily off into the night. Avril wanted to help with the clean-up, but she was shooed off to her apartment with the explanation that she shouldn't have to work on her birthday.  
  
About an hour later, Vincent knocked lightly on the green door to Avril's apartment before pushing it open. "Avril?" he said, looking around the empty kitchen. She must still be up, the light was still burning. Then he heard her bare feet approaching on the stone floor. She came into the kitchen, wearing a long satiny white dressing gown belted at the waist. The top part was wrapped loosely and gaped at the neck, so Vincent could see the ridges of her delicate collarbones and a good deal of the smooth, glowing skin of her upper chest. She had already brushed her hair out. Her face became even more beautiful when it broke into a smile at seeing Vincent.  
  
He stayed in the doorway. "We're all finished out there," he said, gesturing with his thumb back over his shoulder toward the darkened yard.  
  
Avril stood on her toes and craned her neck to see around Vincent. All the lanterns had been taken down, the tables cleared away, the benches stacked. She could hear the sound of male voices and car doors opening and closing.  
  
Vincent glanced in the direction she was looking. "The fellas are just packing up their equipment."  
  
Avril stepped up to the door, apparently intending to go out again. Vincent moved a step back so that she could pass, but she stopped just next to him and waved a greeting to the moving shadows outside. "Hey, thanks again, lads!" she called out.  
  
Two or three friendly voices responded to her in Portuguese; she assumed they were saying good night or something similar.  
  
Vincent looked down at Avril. Her robe had slipped down low on one shoulder when she had raised her other arm to wave. It looked like she didn't have anything else on underneath. Avril turned to Vincent and touched his elbow. "Do you want to come in?" she invited him lightly, without any ulterior motive whatsoever.  
  
Of course he did. "No, it's pretty late. I just wanted to give you this." He held up between them a CD that he had been holding in one hand. "Actually, it's from the band."  
  
Avril took the CD and read the label. It was a recording of the band that had played tonight. "They didn't have to-- Hey, thanks!" Avril waved the CD in the air and shouted out into the darkness.  
  
The response was the gunning of an engine and the glare of headlights as the Brazilians turned their van around and drove out of the yard, accompanied by a high-pitched yell, whistles, and laughter. After a moment, the only sound was the occasional whiffle of a horse and the chirping or clicking of an insect.  
  
Avril looked up at Vincent. Although the night was cool, he was perspiring. He had worked so hard, not just at the cleaning up, but also preparing everything, making all the phone calls, organizing the food and music, helping load and unload everything. He was really in his element when there was work to be done. But this hadn't been church work. This had all been for her. Well, for half the town, as it had turned out, but in the first place for her. "Thank you, Vincent," she said, her voice and her eyes conveying not just her gratitude, but also her love and respect for this man.  
  
Vincent felt a surge of tenderness for Avril. It gave him such a profound satisfaction to see her happy, and even more so to know that he had done something to make her feel that way. He knew that she could take care of herself, but he still had the urge to take care of her. He could feel the warmth from her on one side of his body, competing with the night air on the other side. It was time to say good night. But there was one more thing. "Can I kiss the birthday girl? On the cheek," he added, just so there was no misunderstanding. But he and Avril were beyond misunderstandings. They both knew what the other one felt.  
  
Avril smiled at him coyly. "Just remember, if I don't like it, I may have to kiss you back," she teased, reminding him of the night of the foaling, when she had angrily reacted to his kissing her on the forehead by kissing him on the lips. But now things were different. There was no anger in her anymore, and neither one of them was being caught off-guard.  
  
Vincent put his hands on her shoulders. The material of her dressing gown was slightly slippery between his fingers, and he could feel the muscle of her upper arm yield slightly under the pressure he placed on it. He leaned toward her and placed his cheek against hers and closed his eyes. Her skin was warm and soft and unbelievably smooth. He inclined his head slightly so that his lips made contact with the back of her cheek just before her earlobe. He inhaled once, slowly, taking in the scent that he had dreamed so many times, ever since he had first encountered it that night in Pilgrim's Progress's stall. Then he moved his head ever so slightly away and breathed out, as steadily as he could manage, which wasn't very. "Happy birthday," he whispered.  
  
Avril didn't make a move. She seemed to have stopped breathing altogether. He moved his hands slightly farther back on her shoulders. She could feel his breath on her neck, and it gave her goosebumps of pleasure all down her spine. He started to pull back, and she thought that was already all (and it had been plenty!), but then she realized that his lips were still barely grazing her cheek. He hadn't planned this, but now it seemed to him inevitable. This was no desperate act in some dark corner, they were both in complete control of their actions. There was no coercion, no flimsy platitudes. He hovered over the surface of her skin, just barely agitating the tiny hairs on her cheek with his lips, until he reached the corner of her mouth. Her lips were slightly parted, and he could smell the toothpaste on her breath. Then he slid his lips over hers and kissed her with incredible gentleness and restraint, considering that his entire body was urging him to press himself onto her.  
  
Avril dared finally to reach up and put her hands on his arms, caressing them lightly. Now that the acknowledged barrier between them had been breached, Avril felt a wave of desire well up in her. She was about to lift her hand up to the back of Vincent's head when he broke the kiss and pulled her close to his chest, his breath catching in his throat. She put her arms around his waist instead and pressed her forehead against his neck, breathing in the smell of his desire. She could feel his heart pounding. A cold breeze from outside blew up her bare legs, causing her to shiver involuntarily. Her senses were already on edge. Vincent felt her tremble and was brought back to the here and now. It was really, really time for him to go. If he stayed, he would be leading both of them down a road that couldn't have a good ending. He couldn't offer her a stable relationship. She would just end up disappointed and disillusioned.  
  
"Avril," he whispered. He gently pulled back on her shoulders so that he could see her face. Her eyes were wide and dark, and she looked so blissful. "I do..." he said softly, "but I can't." He searched her face for any sign of disappointment or sadness, and was surprised to find none.  
  
Avril smiled at the delicious feeling that both the kiss and his words had given her. It was all much more than she had ever expected, more than she would ever have let herself hope for. "I do, too," she said, looking into his eyes. "And I would never ask you to."  
  
He nodded. "I know," he said, and he meant it all. He knew.  
  
END 


	8. The Rains Came ATumblin' Down

Vincent and Avril

Chapter 8

"The Rains Came A-Tumblin' Down"

by Margaret Pattison

  
"Does it ever stop raining around here?" Vincent stood in the garda station's waiting room, looking like a ruddy-faced St. Bernard. He pushed his wet hair back with both hands and flicked the drips off onto the floor. Actually, it had only been raining since just before dawn, but it had started off pouring buckets and hadn't let up for a second. It was hard to believe the sky could hold that much water. 

Frankie didn't even look up from the form she was filling out. "Only when it snows," she said with the glimmer of a smile. 

"Snow?" Vincent hadn't seen snow since he was a teenager in Australia. 

Frankie put down her pen and leaned forward against the desk. "You might have heard of it? Cold? White? Penguins and polar bears tend to gravitate toward it?" 

"I may be a lot of things, but a polar bear isn't one of them!" 

Frankie smirked. Winter with this one was going to be fun. "We'll see, we may be able to turn you into one yet!" 

Vincent began fumbling around under his rain poncho. "Hey, didn't see you at Avril's last night." 

Frankie sat up a little straighter. "What, you mean the salsa party?" 

"Yeah, I bet you cut a mean figure on the dance floor!" Vincent lifted up his poncho to look in his coat pocket. 

Frankie frowned in amusement at Vincent. "Yeah well someone had to make sure the town wasn't plundered while everyone was out there making merry!" 

Vincent chuckled. "Right, well, maybe another time." He turned his attention to his pants pockets. 

"Heard Avril's ex showed up with his new girlfriend," Frankie said, just to make conversation. 

"Um, yeah," Vincent answered distractedly. 

"Can't have been too pleasant for her," she said sympathetically. 

"I think she handled it well," he said, his voice muffled by the poncho which he had now resorted to holding up between his teeth, while he patted himself down with both hands. 

Frankie looked at him curiously. What in the world was he doing there? "What can I do for you anyway, Father?" 

Vincent finally came up with a bedraggled envelope and pushed it across the counter. "Could you tell me just what exactly this means?" 

Frankie gingerly extracted a damp document from the envelope and scanned it. "Looks like you're in arrears on your vehicle tax," she said peremptorily, pushing it back toward Vincent. 

Vincent shook his head. "Can't be, I know I paid it for the whole year. I'm sure because there was so much paperwork involved I swore I didn't want to have to go through with that every quarter, so I just paid the entire annual fee up front." 

Frankie frowned and pulled the paper closer again, this time reading it through more carefully. She looked into the envelope again and found another, smaller piece of paper inside as well. Then her face lit up with understanding. "Ah, see, here's the problem. You didn't include Form RF.100 along with the payment. They weren't able to process your cheque." She held up the smaller piece of paper and waved it under Vincent's nose. 

Vincent grunted. Typical. If the government really wanted his money, why did they make it so difficult for him to give it to them? He tried to mask his annoyance with a studied politeness. "I don't suppose you have any of those 'arf' forms lying around, do you?" He had already forgotten the name. 

Frankie placed the cheque and the letter back into the envelope and sighed, shaking her head. Why did people have such problems with the formalities? If they would just follow the rules, everyone's life would be that much easier. "You should have gotten it from the dealer where you purchased your vehicle." She held the envelope out to Vincent. 

Great. He had bought the car through the classifieds, not a dealer. He gave Frankie a you're-my-buddy smile. "How about you just put some sort of official stamp on this," he nodded at the envelope, "and take the money. The cheque's good," he added, in case there was any doubt. Actually, he wasn't all that sure whether it would still clear; he had made the arrangements for the party on the assumption that this payment had already gone through. 

"Sorry, Father, I'm not authorized to do that," Frankie answered in a clipped tone. She would have liked to do Vincent the favor, but this matter was really beyond her jurisdiction. She raised her eyebrows toward the envelope and held it out closer to Vincent. 

Vincent was disappointed. One more piddling detail that needed his attention, as if he didn't have enough to do running St. Joseph's single-handedly. He plucked the envelope from between Frankie's fingers. "Yeah, yeah, proper channels," he complained resignedly. 

"I'll bet you could sing a song about those," Frankie said sympathetically. 

"You don't know the half of it," he said ruefully. He pulled the dripping hood of his poncho back up over his head. "Well, it's back into the drink for me." 

"Speaking of drink, sure you won't stay for a cup?" Frankie indicated the interior of her office, where she had a coffee pot permanently on. 

Vincent had to consider for only the fraction of a second. Cold rain...hot coffee. Inventory at the church...friendly chat with Frankie. Hmmm. "You know what? Don't mind if I do." 

***** 

The yard at Avril's place had been taken over by a lake of opaque, yellow water. If this rain continued much longer, Avril considered, she'd have to ask Brendan if she could borrow his hip waders. Her breeches were already soaked, and it was just the middle of the morning. The practice track was too soggy to run the horses, but they still had to be exercised. She could tell that they were none too happy about the rain, but it was better than being cooped up in their stalls all day. The Cat splashed gamely through the water, which was by now up to her ankles, and out toward the gate. Too risky walking such a heavy animal on the sodden field, better to stick to the gravel-covered road, at least until it turned into a river, which it appeared might well happen sometime that day. 

Avril let The Cat follow her nose down the road. The gentle rhythm of the horse's gait and the numbing monotony of the drumming rain let her mind drift back to the events of the previous night. She had enjoyed the relaxed camaraderie of the party with all of her friends; Avril considered that a social activity now and then wasn't such a big waste of time after all. It really cut down on her stress level and distracted her from her problems, and it was neither addictive nor dangerous to her health. 

Of course Garrett and Rosie showing up had put a bit of a dent in the whole festivities. She knew that Rosie wanted badly to make up with her, but it still rubbed her the wrong way. What did she expect, that they'd all be one big happy family, get together for drinks around the hearth at Christmas, and then maybe she and Rosie could commiserate over how Garrett hogged the bed, or share a few giggles over that trick he did with his pinky? Hardly. And it wasn't like Rosie and Avril had been especially close before. Once Avril had left home, the sisters had barely seen each other, no more than familiar decency had demanded, anyway. More likely Rosie felt guilty over her relationship with Garrett, and she was trying to calm her own conscience by seeking out Avril's blessing. Well she'd have to wait a damn sight longer, that's for sure, Avril vowed. She should just get on with her own life and leave Avril out of it. 

Avril seethed quietly and nudged The Cat into a trot. She was getting cold. The rain washed over her face and ran down into the neck of her slicker. As the chilly rivulet crawled over her skin, she remembered the heat that she had felt there just a few hours earlier. Vincent's breath on her neck, against her cheek, in her hair. She was pretty sure that what he had done, what they had done, was officially forbidden. A line had been crossed. But whether a new line had been drawn, or whether it had been done away with completely, Avril wasn't sure. Vincent had left so abruptly after the kiss that there had been no time for explanations. 

Vincent had said, 'I do...but I can't.' Avril had taken it to mean that he wanted to stay, that he wanted to make love to her, but couldn't due to his priestly vows. Simply the thought of it gave Avril a prickly feeling all the way up to the tops of her ears. She had strictly forbidden herself to fantasize over what might have been, had Vincent stayed last night. She agreed with a point that Vincent had made in an earlier conversation, that she had to remain in control of her feelings. If she let her body get the upper hand, it might run away with her, dragging her emotions behind. 

She considered that he might also have meant that he loved her. That possibility was even more delicious to her than the first, since a physical desire might remain forever unrequited, but a true and honest love was something that even the Roman Catholic church couldn't legislate or regulate. Avril had owned up to the fact that she loved him, too, at least to herself, if not in so many words to Vincent, but she recognized that it would do no good to moon over him. Of course, she had heard of priests leaving the church over a woman, but she didn't flatter herself to think that this would be such a case, and in any event, she wasn't sure that she would want Vincent to do that. Imagine what a terrible burden that would be, for both of them, simply so that they could have sex according to the guidelines that the church had set up. What if they got tired of each other after a couple of years? Or even months? What if one or the other of them returned to drinking? Avril determined that was better leaving things as they were. However that was. 

***** 

"Well, Father Sheahan," Father Mac began smoothly, standing in the doorway to the sacristy, "I hear that was quite a show you put on last night." 

Vincent looked around the door of the cabinet where he was taking an inventory of supplies. "What was that?" 

"You know," Father Mac said with a cool little smile, "that little birthday party at Ms Burke's place." 

Vincent smiled stiffly. "It wasn't a birthday party, it was just a barb--" 

Father Mac dropped all pretense and spat out, "Oh spare me, it's obvious, isn't it? You might be able to get away with hiding behind split hairs with some of the dimmer bulbs in your congregation, but you and I know what's really going on. You said yourself to me that you had feelings for that woman." 

"--which I also said I was in control of." Vincent closed the cabinet and walked over to the desk, turning his back to Father Mac. 

Father Mac took a couple of steps into the interior of the sacristy. "No," he said, shaking his jowls, "I believe you said that your vocation came first, but you said nothing about what came after that. And Avril Burke cannot come in second, third, or in any other position," he insisted. 

Vincent turned toward Father Mac and answered him calmly, "Father, you weren't even there, but you can ask anyone who was. Nothing inappropriate happened between Avril and myself at that party. I hardly even spoke to her all evening." Vincent conveniently left out the part about the kiss afterwards. He wasn't sure yet how to deal with that, or what it meant. 

"I can see, Father, that you are quite adept at living the letter of the law...when you want to," he added, hinting at Vincent's subordination at Baleach na gCapaill. "But do not forget the spirit in which that law was given. I have my eye on you." 

Vincent kept his face blank. "I'll keep that in mind." 

Father Mac narrowed his eyes. "Do," he said darkly. He couldn't shake the feeling that Vincent was up to something. 

***** 

When Vincent emerged from St. Joseph's that afternoon, it still hadn't stopped raining, or even slacked off. The water ran in tiny arc-shaped waves down the street toward the pub. He held the poncho over his head and ran in great strides down the hill, leaping over the overflowing gutters and across the puddles which were quickly turning into ponds. By the time he reached Fitzgerald's, he was soaked to the skin. 

"Jayz, wouldja look what the cat dragged in," snickered Liam from his perch. 

Vincent looked around at the other patrons, all relatively dry from the mid-calf up, as he held his dripping poncho at arms' length. Óonagh suppressed a smile. "'Tis not fit for man nor beast, eh Father?" 

Vincent ran his hand over his face to catch the drops coming off his eyebrows and nose and shook his hair back. "Does it only rain when I step out the door?" he asked incredulously. "How did you all manage to stay so dry?" 

Edso swiveled around to face Vincent and suggested, "Yeah, erm, there's this new invention, see, it's all the rage. They call it the 'umbrella'." He turned back around toward Liam and spluttered in amusement. Liam guffawed into his beer. 

"Now, Father, don't you mind them," Siobhan comforted him from the far end of the bar. "They've only been sitting here all afternoon is all." 

"I'll get you some tea, shall I, Father?" Óonagh said sympathetically. 

"Thanks, Óonagh," he said gratefully. "Back in a flash." Vincent swooped up the stairs, taking them two at a time. 

Once upstairs, he went straight into the bathroom, peeled off his wet things and slapped them down into the sink. He turned on the shower full blast, as hot as it would go. The water felt like needles on his skin. He bent over to let the spray hit him on the crown of the head, then raised his face toward the stream. It beat down on his eyelids like tiny heated arrows. He remained so until his skin was numb from the insult. The words of St. Paul came to his mind: 'But I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection.' The problem didn't seem to be keeping his body in check: he had stopped at a simple kiss last night, even though his body had been reacting to Avril's presence in a rather unchaste manner. Nor were his thoughts beyond his ability to manage: although he had been tempted to dwell on the feelings that were stirred in him, he had purposely turned his attention to other matters whenever his train of thought drifted in that direction. No, it was rather his emotions that he found uncontrollable. Distance wouldn't change that. Time, maybe. 

***** 

When Avril awoke the next morning, the first thing she took note of was that it was still raining. The second was that it was damn cold. The third was that her clock had stopped...it couldn't possibly be this light at 3:16 in the morning, which is what the clock said. She reached one bare arm out from under the down comforter and picked up her watch from the bedside table. 7:12. She propped herself up a bit and tried switching on the bedside lamp. Nothing. Damn electrics must be out. She flopped back down under the blanket and considered. She had been having such a lovely dream, it would be so easy to just close her eyes and... No. She flung the cover back, gritting her teeth against the sudden blast of cold air against her skin. As the goosebumps formed, she hopped over to the rocking chair and grabbed the jumper and jeans which she had dropped over the back of it the night before. She quickly pulled them on over her scanty sleeping attire, then rummaged in the dresser for a pair of woolen socks while her teeth began to chatter. 

Avril quickly ascertained that her fuses were all intact. She tried the phone and was relieved to hear a dial tone. Thank God for small miracles. She dialed Fitzgerald's first and got Óonagh, who told her that there was nothing wrong with their electricity, so it must be more of a local problem. Next she rang Siobhan, who also lived this side of town. Siobhan's power was out, too, and Avril could hear Aisling complaining in the background about having to settle for cold milk for breakfast. Siobhan and Avril agreed that the power company must already know about the problem and be working on it, so there was nothing for them to do but wait it out. At least it was cold weather, so they didn't have to worry about foods spoiling. Just to be on the safe side, though, Siobhan was going to transfer the contents of her veterinary refrigerator to Michael Ryan's for the duration. 

Avril's last call before breakfast was to the track manager at Wexford, to see what conditions there were like. There was a race scheduled for the afternoon that King Ransom was supposed to run in, but Avril suspected that if the rainfall there were anything like in Ballykissangel, and there was no reason to suppose that it wouldn't have been, then the race would have to be cancelled. On her first try, the line was occupied, but a couple of minutes later she was able to speak to Mr. Doyle, who said that he had been just about to ring her. The track was indeed under several inches of water, with no hope of drying out by 2:00pm. Tant pis, Avril sighed as she rang off. King Ransom had had a good chance of placing, at the very least. 

Avril took a quick glance out the window and saw John Joe splashing by in a black rubber coat, carrying a bag of feed over his shoulder. She tapped on the windowpane to get his attention, then stepped around to the door. 

"Morning, I'll be out in a minute," Avril greeted him quickly, jerking her head toward the interior of the house, "power's out." 

"I noticed," the ex-jockey's weather-beaten face grinned out from under his hood. "Road's almost out, too." He turned and nodded toward town, hefting the sack on his shoulder. "Bout a mile and a half back, mudslide took a utility pole down with it. Blocking half the road." 

Avril rolled her eyes. "Wonderful. Well good thing you made it anyway." 

"Yeah, no way you're getting that truck past though." 

"No kidding. Race's off anyway." 

"Figured." He started wading toward the stables again. "Better get them horses fed. Running low, by the way," he added over his shoulder. 

"Yeah, I'm expecting a delivery today or tomorrow at the latest." 

"Hope they get the road cleared by then," John Joe called back skeptically. 

Me, too, thought Avril, as she scanned the solid near-blackness of the sky. 

***** 

Vincent had heard from Óonagh at breakfast about Avril's electrical problems, but he decided to put off ringing her until after the morning Mass. He figured that if there were a real emergency, Avril would have called on him or someone else by now, and he wanted to drive out to the yard directly and see what he could do for her on site. Also, to tell the truth, he felt a little awkward about speaking to Avril on the phone, after what had transpired between them. He thought that it would be easier to find the right words if he could see her, if they could both gauge the other one's reaction face to face. 

As it was, he could have spared himself the trouble of even making the detour to the church, for not a single soul turned out. Although the mid-week morning Mass was always the one with the lowest attendance, still he usually had several elderly parishioners looking for company, a couple of middle-aged housewives with nothing better to do, and even the odd down-on-his-luck busker hoping for some comfort. Must be the weather, Vincent thought, as he stood before the altar and checked his watch again. And who could blame them. If he had a nice, cozy fire to put his feet up in front of and a good book to engross himself in, he'd opt for that over kneeling on a wooden bench in a chilly, drafty, stone church, too. After a quarter of an hour, Vincent gave it up and headed for the sacristy to change into the work clothes he had brought along. 

Outside, Vincent made a dash for his car, which he had actually driven the short distance up the hill from Fitzgerald's that morning, in order to arrive at the church relatively dry for once. The rain seemed to have let up a bit, at least it was more of a steady shower than a torrential downpour. As he drove over the bridge out of town, Vincent noticed that the Angel had overflowed onto the lower walkway, and was rushing under the arches with alarmingly little room to spare. He said a silent yet fervent prayer that there wouldn't be an actual flood. 

About a mile out of town, the road became covered with a couple of centimeters' worth of standing water. Within a hundred meters, the water had deepened to about ten centimeters and was obviously flowing down from further up the road. Vincent slowed the car to avoid splashing too much water up and drowning the engine. He soon saw flashing emergency lights, and around the next curve he came upon the blockage that John Joe had told Avril about earlier. The utility pole had come down with its top jutting out over the right side of the road. That would have been difficult enough to move aside, but it was the mass of mud that had come down with it that was causing the real problem. A partial dam had been formed, and the water running down from higher up the mountain was now being channeled through the narrow gap on the left side of the road, causing a small cascade of brown, debris-laden runoff. It would have been dicey getting through there with his car, if he had even been able to get to that point. As it was, Frankie was there, in a fluorescent yellow raincoat with safety reflectors, turning everyone back, and behind her were several utility workers in orange hard hats with a heavy crane. 

Vincent pulled his car over to the side of the road, reached into the back seat for his rain poncho, and pulled it over his head. He then got out and approached Frankie, avoiding the middle of the road, where the water would have been deep enough to run over the tops of his galoshes. 

"Father Sheahan!" Frankie greeted him jovially. "Wet enough for you yet?" 

Vincent grinned. "You weren't kidding about it never stopping, were you?" 

"Hey, it's what keeps our Emerald Isle green." 

Vincent looked around at the sky and said, just as something sounding like a chainsaw started up in the vicinity of the workmen, "More like eternally gray." 

Frankie leaned toward Vincent and shouted, "What's that?" 

Vincent turned back to Frankie with a big smile and shouted, "I said it's a beautiful day!" 

Frankie nodded, unconvinced. That certainly hadn't been what he had said. "Sure." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder and spoke over the machine noise, "If you're thinking of going up to Avril's--" 

Vincent looked at the mess before him. "Ah, I can see that might be difficult." 

The motor stopped and the men started arguing amongst themselves about what to try next. Vincent and Frankie watched them for a moment, then Frankie shook her head in disgust. "Doesn't look like they'll have it cleared any time soon." 

"Do me a favor? Would you let me know when they do get it cleared?" 

"You'll be the second to know," she promised him. 

"Thanks Frankie, you're a gem." 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she said, pleased. Vincent was already on his way back to his car when Frankie called after him, "Hey, Father, did you get that mess with your vehicle registration straightened out?" 

Vincent waved at Frankie cheerily. "No worries, Guard!" 

"Right," she muttered and rolled her eyes. If the man would just apply as much gung-ho to his paperwork as he did to looking after a certain horsewoman... Frankie knew that Avril had been having a tough time of it, what with the defections from among the ranks of the local horse owners, her ex-husband showing up, The Cat going lame, and who knows what else; if anyone needed moral support, Avril did, and Frankie certainly didn't begrudge her that...but still and all, Vincent did spend an inordinate amount of time at the stables. 

Back in his car, Vincent got out his cell phone and punched in Avril's number. When she answered, she sounded harried, and the connection was full of static. 

"Avril, is that you?" 

"Vincent!" Although his voice was distorted, she couldn't misplace that accent. "Sorry, I think it's a bad connection!" 

Vincent spoke louder to make himself heard over the static, the rain, and the sounds of machinery outside, which had started up again. "Avril, how are things?" 

Where to begin? she thought, and answered, "We're swamped, literally!" 

"I was on my way out, but it looks like the road is closed!" 

"I know, John Joe's the only one who made it through!" 

"Well is there anything I can do?" 

"How about a miracle?" 

Vincent laughed. It was good to hear that she hadn't lost her sense of humour. "I'll see what I can do!" The connection was breaking up, and Vincent recognized that it wasn't really an appropriate time for a more personal conversation anyway, so he wound up. "Listen, I'll try to call you later, OK?" 

"What?" Avril could hardly hear him at all. 

"Later!" he shouted. The connection was going to break down any moment, and Vincent felt impressed to leave Avril with some reassurance, so without thinking, he shouted in a rush, "And Avril, I--" Whoa, what was that? He stopped himself just as he was about to say something he hadn't planned on saying at all. But it wouldn't have mattered anyway, as the line dissolved in a fizzle of static and then went dead. 

Vincent drove slowly back toward town with a funny feeling. He had actually been about to tell Avril-- But he had stopped himself. He'd better watch out. He knew how women tended to react to those particular words. He had said them to Elena. And had meant them, at the time, in a lonely and self-indulgent way. But he had soon rued it, realizing that he couldn't live up to them. 

***** 

Well that was nice of him to check on us, thought Avril happily as she tossed the now-useless phone onto the stack of papers on her desk. She had been wondering, when he hadn't called or come by the day after the party, whether he was going to pull back again, as he had when he had moved out the day after the foaling. Maybe he was embarrassed by what had happened, although he hadn't seemed so that night. It was clearly turning into a struggle for him, each time they were together they seemed to get closer, but that was always followed by a hasty retreat on his part. And who could blame him, Avril thought. It was a nasty burden for a man, to have to live celibate. It had truly pained her to see the agony of conscience that he had expressed when he told her about the alcoholic priest who had gone astray; she could only assume that it had been an autobiographical story. She didn't want to be the cause of such pain in him again. Yet she had taken no such vow, and she had no wish to deprive herself of the emotions and sensations that she experienced in Vincent's presence. 

She had built up the fire in the kitchen and boiled some water the old-fashioned way, so she and John Joe were at least able to enjoy their elevenses together, warm and dry. Between the two of them, they had gotten all of their charges fed and watered, and cleaned out the stalls. They had moved Pilgrim's Progress and her filly, Fire At Will, to the stall at the far end of the yard, where the flooding wasn't as bad, since the water had begun creeping over the concrete threshhold into their stall this morning. They were going to take turns leading the horses out for a stretch in the afternoon while the other one stayed behind to man the fort in case of emergency. Although how the situation could get much worse than it was, neither of them cared to speculate. 

***** 

Vincent had lunch at the pub, where the TV was tuned to the noontime news report from Dublin. The weather was the top headline of the day, with local mudslides and minor flooding all over the Southeast. Counties Wicklow, Wexford, and Carlow had been the hardest hit so far, but no major damage had been reported. Officials were calling for volunteers to fill sandbags and the civil defense corps had been put on alert in case of emergency. 

"If that's not an emergency out there, I don't know what is!" Paul gestured frantically toward the river just across the street. "If this keeps up another day, we'll have the Angel running under our door. I've got a good mind to raid the school playlot for my own sandbags!" He put his fists on his hips determinedly. 

"Hands off the playlot!" Brendan admonished him. "Anyway, this wouldn't be the first building to go in a flood," he pointed out. "It's already touch and go for those properties down on the walk." 

"Pah," Paul waved at Brendan dismissively and walked down to the other end of the bar. 

"And I don't even know about the state of my house," Siobhan added. "Can't get up there to check on things since the road's gone out." She turned to Vincent, who was eating at one of the tables by the windows. "Have you heard anything from Avril, Father?" 

"She's still up there as far as I know," Vincent shrugged between bites of fried potato, silently noting the assumption that if anyone knew what Avril was up to, it would be him. "John Joe made it through earlier." 

"Well at least she's not alone then," Siobhan said, relieved. "I'd hate to think of her by herself out there with no power and all those horses to look after in this weather." 

The same thought had occurred to Vincent, of course, and he was also glad for John Joe's presence. Still, he wished that he could be there to help her. 

The door opened, momentarily filling the pub with the sound of rushing water. A grizzled, heavy-set man in a black rubber rain coat and hat entered and approached the bar. "Give us a pint, Paul, me whistle's dry as a bone!" He took his rain hat off and shook it out behind him. 

"That'd be about the only thing around here that is!" Paul grinned, reaching across the bar to shake hands enthusiastically with the man. "What've you got for us today, Colin? It's usually Friday, isn't it?" He busied himself preparing a drink for the man. 

"Half a ton of oats," Colin answered, sliding onto a bar stool. 

"What?" Paul was confused. 

"That's a hell of a lot of porridge," Siobhan commented. 

"It's for Miss Burke, you know--" Colin gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. 

"Yeah yeah, I know who you mean," Paul shook his head and placed Colin's glass on the bar. 

"You'll never make it up there, the road's blocked," Brendan informed him. 

"I know, I just tried," Colin grinned over at Brendan and raised his glass. "Sláinte!" 

Brendan raised his half-empty glass and winked in return. 

"So you're trying to unload it here? Sorry, my friend, that's more that even Dermot could eat," Paul said. 

Colin leaned one elbow on the bar and confided to Paul, "Well I was hoping you might be able to take delivery on it, save me the trouble of hauling it all back and making an extra trip down again once they get things sorted out here. I'm sure you can work something out with Miss Burke about getting the load up to her place in a couple of days." 

"I don't know..." Paul was obviously uncomfortable with the idea, until he came up with a brilliant one of his own. "Unless...how does it come, in sacks, is it?" 

"Now Paul," Brendan warned him. He could see where Paul's thoughts were headed. "You can't get those wet, the feed'll be ruined." 

"Yeah yeah yeah," Paul brushed him off. "First things first." He turned back to Colin with a shrewd look in his eye. "It's not C.O.D., is it?" 

"Nah," Colin laughed. He was used to doing business with Paul. "I'm not the collection agent, just the delivery boy." 

"Done!" Paul held out his hand again to shake on it. 

***** 

After the deal was done and the oats had transferred ownership, Vincent went up to his room to try ringing Avril again. He didn't completely trust that Paul would inform her in a timely manner of the arrangement. It was no use, though, as his cell phone wasn't getting a signal. He could have gone down to try the Dooley's house phone, but he was itching to do something. He rapidly changed into his sturdiest clothes. 

***** 

"Paul!" Óonagh yelled from the kitchen. 

"Yes, dear?" Paul sang out sweetly from behind the bar, where he was wiping out shot glasses. As if he didn't know what she was about to say. 

Óonagh stuck her head around the corner and asked with exaggerated patience, "Paul, love, why is there a ton of oats in here? I can't even get into the larder." 

"Only half a ton, love," Paul smiled lovingly at his wife. "Just doing a favour for a friend." 

"For whom? Secretariat?" Óonagh asked disbelievingly. 

Paul carefully replaced the shot glasses on the shelf behind the bar. "Oh, no, love, he's long dead, no, but close. Avril." 

"Avril?" Óonagh wrinkled her nose. She supposed it was possible. "Avril Burke left this stuff here?" 

Paul chuckled indulgently at Óonagh and her quaint ideas. "No, no, not exactly, Colin the delivery man did." He walked over to Óonagh, patted her on the hip, and winked. "But Avril will thank me, let me tell you." 

Óonagh narrowed her eyes at Paul. The man was up to something again. 

***** 

Vincent trudged up the road with his head down to keep the rain out of his eyes. He had driven as far as the road block, at which Frankie had been replaced by two orange sawhorses, then left his car behind and continued on foot. The men from the electric company had managed to get the pole moved back away from the road, but they had apparently decided that the huge pile-up of mud was not their responsibility. At any rate, there were no more workers or equipment to be seen. 

Once past the blockage, the water was draining well due to the slight incline of the road, so it was fairly easy going. After a half mile, he turned in at Siobhan's property. Everything seemed normal, aside from the deep puddles in the garden. He walked once around the house and the outbuildings, and, finding nothing amiss, went back out to the road and continued up toward Avril's place. As he walked, his eyes fixed on the ground, he uncomfortably confronted himself about that kiss the other night. 

He honestly hadn't intended to kiss her like that, at least not consciously. He had only wanted to wish her well, just as many others had done that night with a quick embrace. But many others hadn't finished their congratulations with a kiss on the lips that could easily have led to much more. He had gone too far, that much was clear to him. What must Avril think? 

And what must He think? God. Have I committed a sin this time? Have I even broken a vow? In Brazil, it had been clear-cut. One kiss had led immediately to another, and within minutes all sorts of commandments had been broken: adultery, lust, lying, broken vows. 

...Thou shalt not commit adultery (for whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart); Vincent didn't lust after Avril, not usually anyway, although he had to admit there had been a few moments there when he had felt Avril responding to his kiss that he had also wanted desperately to give in. Rather, he felt comfort and took pleasure in her presence; if he had to describe it in relation to any other period in his life, he would say that he felt at home when he was with her. It was a good, wholesome feeling. Most of the time. 

...Ye shall not fulfill the lust of the flesh; Vincent was sure he was on solid ground with this one. Despite having felt that momentary surge of desire, he had maintained control and broken off the embrace before anything even remotely resembling fulfillment could occur. 

...Ye shall not deal falsely, neither lie; here again, Vincent was taking great care to be completely honest with Avril. In fact, he was probably being more honest with her than he was with himself. With Father Mac, on the other hand...Vincent was really pushing it there, and he knew it. He was honest to the word with his superior, but what Father Mac had said about the spirit of the law had caught at Vincent's conscience. Maybe he would have to discuss this whole situation more openly with him. After all, if he really had nothing to hide... 

...If a man vow a vow unto the Lord, or swear an oath to bind his soul with a bond, he shall not break his word. His word. He had given his word that he would serve only the Lord, that he would be beholden to none but the Church. He had put his life, literally, in God's hands. He had sworn a sacred and holy oath to continue in the service of God, and with His assistance to observe chastity and to be bound for ever in the ministrations of the Altar, to serve who is to reign. It wasn't even a question of whether it was God who demanded celibacy of a priest, or whether it was a human innovation; whether at its root was the best interest of the congregation, or merely a ploy by the medieval Church to gain control of lands. The point in Vincent's case was that he, personally, had made a promise. He could have vowed, like Samson, never to cut his hair, and it would have come down to the same thing. He couldn't, whether or not he personally believed that celibacy was a good thing, see his way clear to break a promise that he had made, without having a damn good reason for doing so. And his personal pleasure or convenience was simply not a good enough reason. Perhaps nothing was. 

Upon such reflection, and realizing that he was capable of such introspection, Vincent saw that this time really was different than it had been in Brazil, and that gave him hope. He wasn't wracked with guilt, as he had been back then whenever he had sobered up enough to realize what he had done, or was doing. And to escape that guilt, he had reached for another drink. Absolution through alcohol was quicker and less painful to the ego than the more orthodox method. The only problem was, it didn't last. No, this time, he was more worried and surprised than anything else. Worried about his precarious detente with the Bishop, worried about Avril's feelings, and surprised at the extent, depth, and tenderness of his own feelings for her. Not for the first time in the past few days, he wanted a drink. 

He heard the unmistakable sound of horseshoes against stone and looked up. It was Avril, walking with Pilgrim's Progress and Fire At Will on long lines. The little filly was toffee-colored with a creamy blond mane, like her mother, but her pasterns were white, making it look like she was wearing bobby socks. Although Vincent was pleased to see that the horses were doing fine, he was even more pleased to see Avril. He hadn't wanted to admit that he was worried about her, but he had been, and the relief was evident on his face. 

"Vincent!" Avril was obviously pleased to see him, too. "I thought that might be you." She had recognized his gait and his poncho from a distance. The fact that he hadn't seen her first would have given her time to avoid meeting up with him, had she wished to. In fact, she had momentarily considered turning abruptly around, mounting the mare and riding back past the yard in the other direction, then waiting half an hour before returning home. She was also a little nervous about seeing him again. It was true, it hadn't technically been their first kiss; that had been several weeks ago, the night that Fire At Will had been born, but this time had been different. Much different. They had both wanted it this time. Avril knew that they would have to talk about it. But the longer she put it off, the longer her hopes--dreams--illusions? would remain intact. 

Vincent walked up to where Avril had stopped with her two charges and went directly to the baby horse. "How are you?" he asked, patting the foal's neck. 

"Do you mean me or her?" Avril asked pertly. 

Vincent grinned. "Both. You." He finally raised his eyes to look directly at Avril. 

She had the hood of her rain slicker pulled up over her riding helmet, but it hadn't done much to keep her dry. She wiped her face with one bare hand and smiled at the futility of the gesture. "Wet," she replied. "Did you walk all the way from town?" she asked, impressed by his tenacity. 

Vincent directed his attention to the little horse again, inspecting its ear. In those few seconds when he had met Avril's gaze, he had felt a pang of regret that they couldn't explore their relationship more deeply. "Nah, just from the road block." 

Avril looked curiously at the large hump on Vincent's back under the rain poncho. "And are you hiding something under there, or are you just glad to see me?" She grinned at her own impudence. 

"Ah, ha ha," Vincent laughed and wagged his finger at her. The little minx. "You'll just have to wait and see!" 

"Well come on," she said, handing him Pilgrim's Progress's line. "John Joe's tending the hearth." 

As they walked, Vincent filled Avril in on the delivery to Fitzgerald's, the tense mood among the townspeople, the water-level, the motor tax, anything really, other than the topic that they most needed to discuss. Avril recognized that he was beating about the bush, but she didn't push the issue. 

When they arrived back at the yard, they brought the two horses to their stall, rubbed them down with big towels, and draped stable blankets over them. There was something about being together in such an enclosed space, with the two steaming animals, that encouraged a certain intimacy. Vincent was hesitant; should he say something now about the other night? He realized that it would be up to him to broach the subject. Avril was clearly content to let things ride as they were...or was she being a merciless tease by remaining silent on the subject, just letting him twist in the wind? Did she know his mind better than he did himself? Luckily, he didn't have much time to agonize over whether to speak on the topic or not, since Avril, businesslike as ever, briskly opened the stall door and shooed Vincent out. 

As they waded back across the yard, Avril noted that the little flood there seemed to have peaked; at any rate it wasn't any deeper than it had been that morning, despite the continued rainfall. Although Avril was fairly cut off out here in the country, the situation actually appeared to be much less threatening than it was down near the river. 

Inside, it was like dusk. The flat cloud-filtered light from outside didn't penetrate much further than the little rectangular windows in the upper part of the wall. The only other source of light was the crackling fire in the hearth, where John Joe was dozing with his feet propped up. When the door opened, he cracked one eye open and glanced sideways at Avril. "Back so soon?" he drawled. Then when he saw who was accompanying her, he opened both eyes, grinned and stood up. "Father," he said slyly, shaking Vincent's outstretched hand. 

"Hey, John Joe," Vincent said, pumping his arm enthusiastically. "How're Bridie and the kids?" 

"Keeping their heads above water," John Joe replied with a wink. 

Vincent and Avril both laughed indulgently as they removed their dripping outerwear. 

"Will I take the polo ponies out for a stretch now?" John Joe asked. 

Avril was about to say yes but Vincent suggested, "Why don't you stick around for a few minutes? I've brought some supplies." He shrugged off the backpack that he had been carrying under his poncho. 

Avril excused herself to change her clothes while Vincent transferred the contents of the backpack to the table: a torch, several batteries, two flasks (one with freshly brewed coffee, the other with hot water), a Tetra-pak of milk, some packaged sandwiches, some candles, a lighter, and two bottles of Guiness, which Óonagh had assured him would be appreciated by John Joe. There had been enough food left in the house for lunch, so he and Avril had already eaten, but John Joe promised he would certainly take advantage of the provisions when he returned in an hour or so. Vincent offered to wait, then walk out with John Joe and drive him home, and John Joe said he might just take him up on that. 

When Avril returned, she tossed Vincent a towel and inspected the goodies. Of course, she already had a torch on the premises, but a second one never hurt, and the batteries might definitely come in handy. She had also already figured out how to boil water over the fire for tea, but in the absence of instant coffee, she hadn't had any of the black stuff yet that day, so Vincent's offering wasn't completely redundant. 

Meanwhile, John Joe had readied himself for the onslaught and bid the two of them good afternoon as he slipped out into the steady rain. 

Vincent sat down heavily on the settee before the fire and removed his galoshes, then laid the towel in a roll around his neck and sat back, wiggling his toes in the radiant heat. 

"Ham or chicken?" Avril asked. 

"Hm?" Vincent looked over the back of the settee to where Avril was standing at the table with a selection of sandwiches in her hands. "Oh, anything," he said absentmindedly. An hour. They'd have an hour before the other man returned. 

"Coffee?" 

"No, thanks, I'm fine." 

Avril walked around to a nearby armchair, the flask of coffee under one arm and two sandwiches wrapped in plastic in her hand. She dropped one sandwich on Vincent as she passed by, then sat down and balanced hers on her knee while she poured herself a cup of coffee from the flask. 

"Well, looks like you two've got everything under control," Vincent smiled at Avril as he unwrapped the food. 

"Of course," she replied self-assuredly. "What did you expect?" She put the flask down on the floor and sat back in her chair. The ball was in his court now. He knew how she felt and she knew how he felt, the only question was...what was he going to make of it? 

What had he expected? That Avril would be some damsel in distress, waiting for him to come charging in? He was, as ever, impressed with her resourcefulness. She clearly didn't need him, and in the back of his mind he had known that all along, but he had just wanted to do something for her, something to show her-- "I don't know, I'm just glad that everything's OK. It's just that I couldn't reach you--" 

"So you decided to come up and see for yourself," she finished his thought. 

"Well, I also checked on Siobhan's house on the way," he said in self-defense; she made it sound like he had just wanted to see her, and maybe that was true, but still, he couldn't just come right out and say it like that, could he? Or could he? "...and I wanted to tell you about the oats, and I thought maybe you could use a few things, and, yeah," he grinned a little self-consciously, "I wanted to see for myself." 

Avril was pleased. It was nice to hear it. "So now you've seen it. No problem. Thanks for the stuff, though." 

"If you write out a shopping list, I'll get what you need and bring it back out." 

"You know what? I was thinking I could just saddle up The Cat and ride into town myself, get a few things. And talk to Paul." It was true, she had realized when she saw what Vincent had done, that she could do much the same thing herself. 

"Sure, of course you could," he said, a little disappointed. 

"Not that I don't appreciate it," Avril hastened to add. She hadn't meant to belittle his Good Samaritan side. "I mean, I wouldn't have even thought of it if you hadn't come out this afternoon." 

"Good, good," Vincent said lightly, munching on his sandwich. "Glad I could help." 

"No. Really. Vincent. I really appreciate it. The food, the supplies, everything." Especially the visit. Could she say that? "Especially the visit." There, she had said it. 

Vincent swallowed and looked down at his hands holding the half-eaten sandwich in his lap. He wasn't sure what to say. His first impulse was to bluster past the moment with a laugh and a joke. That would have been all right for Frankie, but not for Avril. He owed her more than that. He cleared his throat. "I know." 

Avril noted his discomfort and tried to help him out. "You don't have to say any more," she said gently. "It's OK. I understand." 

Vincent was silent for a moment more before saying, "Avril, you deserve a real relationship with a real man." 

Avril didn't like the sound of that. "I told you before," she insisted, "I'm not looking for anyone to give me a life." 

"I know, you don't need anyone, you've done an admirable job on your own." He hesitated again before continuing, "But wouldn't you like someone to share your life?" 

Avril was taken aback. She had never thought of it like that before. Obvious, really. She did have someone whom she shared nearly everything with...her victories, her hurdles, her false starts, her crashes...just not her body. And just not as often as she would have liked. But she couldn't say that to Vincent, not like that. 

"Vincent, you're my best friend," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, in addition to being the answer to his question. 

Vincent didn't want to say it, because he knew it was a platitude, but at the same time it was the absolute truth, at least for the moment: "I can't be what you want me to be." 

Now Avril heard this as flat-out rejection, not of the stock 'I'm a priest' sort, but of the all-encompassing 'I can't even be your friend anymore' sort. This was just the bad turn that she had feared this conversation would take. She started to get angry and her voice got tight. "You don't know what I want you to be." 

Vincent corrected her quietly. "I know." Even before that kiss, he had known. 

Avril put down her coffee and sandwich and stood up, spreading her arms in entreaty. "Look, why are you doing this? Why can't we just leave things as they are?" 

Vincent looked up at her and explained earnestly, "Because as they are is not a stable state. As they are is going somewhere we can't go." 

"I'm not going anywhere, it's you who threw that party and did--" Avril waved her hand accusingly in Vincent's direction, remembered just exactly what Vincent had done, got all flustered, and stuttered, "--what-what-what you did!" 

"I know, and I'm--" he was going to say he was sorry, but at that moment he realized he wasn't at all sorry for it, so he quickly cast about for a way to finish the utterance, and came up with, "--I'm not going to do it again." Although he wasn't entirely sure that he meant that either, but it was good for his resolve to have it said aloud. 

"Well good!" Avril exclaimed, meaning just the opposite. 

"Avril, hey," Vincent began reasonably. He saw that he was upsetting her, and that was definitely not his intention. "Avril, come on. You're my best friend, too. Let's not let this get in the way." 

"What?" Avril was nearly floored. "You're the one who started with this 'I can't be who you want' nonsense," she screeched, then moderated her tone somewhat to say, "I want you to be my friend." Lover. "I like you." Love. "I want to be able to talk to you when I've had a lousy day." Wake up next to you. "Is that really too much to ask?" 

Vincent might not have been able to read between the lines, but he certainly recognized that Avril was fooling herself if she insisted on hiding behind what she was saying. On the other hand, she was right. She had never done anything inappropriate, anything to tempt him, other than just being herself. It all went onto his account. He also didn't like the unequal footing they were on, quite literally, with him lounging on the settee, both legs stretched out before him, and her standing between him and the fire. He sat up a bit, set the rest of the sandwich down next to him, and reached out a hand toward her. "Come here. Sit down." 

Avril looked at him skeptically. All that talk of how he couldn't go there, and now he was encouraging her to 'come here'. 

Vincent understood her hesitation. He held up three fingers. "I won't try anything. Scout's honor." 

Avril took a step closer, then tentatively sat down on the edge of the settee. Vincent positioned himself so that he could look at Avril properly. Sometimes the little lines in her face showed up, especially when she got angry. Then she always looked so strict, so tight and hard, older than her thirty years. But now, with only the soft orange light from the fire illuminating her features, her anger ebbing, she looked soft, youthful, beautiful. Vincent wanted to reach up and touch her face, but he settled for her hand. 

He had learned early on in his career the value of the human touch. Laying his hand over that of his conversation partner was something he did regularly with all classes of people when they needed comfort: the aged, children, men less often because they usually weren't used to it, but there had still been occasions when he had found it appropriate. Now, too, he had meant it as a gesture of comfort and friendship, but as soon as he made contact, he realized that his feelings would never stop there, even if his touch did. He couldn't very well take his hand away, though, so he concentrated on keeping it from running up her arm and continued with what he wanted to say. "Now. You're right. You have never asked anything of me that I couldn't give. I reckon the difficulty is more within myself, and that's something that I'll have to work out myself." 

Avril just about gasped when he took her hand. Her nerves had been primed by her short outburst, and by the memory of the kiss. She gently returned his grasp and wished, actively, for the first time, that he weren't a priest. Not just for herself, but because she could see the struggle he was having. "Vincent, I don't want our friendship to be a burden for you." It was difficult for her to say that, but she could see now that it would be selfish of her to force him into a situation that he was uncomfortable with. "Remember when I was teaching you the commands for riding, how to make the horse stop and turn? Well now I'm willing to play by your rules, you just have to let me know what they are." 

"The rules are, you be Avril Burke and I'll be more circumspect." 

***** 

John Joe had decided to stay on at the stables to keep an eye on things while Avril rode King Ransom into town to talk with Paul. She and Vincent had set out from the yard at the same time, and she was well ahead of him by now. He felt relieved after their talk. He considered that it probably had helped him more than her, though. She really didn't need anyone, and he kept assuming that she did and that she would be hurt when he had to turn her down. After Vincent had clarified his position yet once more, they had sat comfortably in front of the fire until John Joe had returned. Vincent had very much enjoyed the cozy atmosphere, just the two of them lazing around with nothing urgent to take care of. Avril was right. He should just leave well enough alone. 

As Vincent approached his car, he could already see at a distance something yellow on his windscreen. A large leaf? But it soon resolved into a regular rectangle, and Vincent cursed Guard Sullivan under his breath. The nerve! He had promised to get the registration taken care of! He climbed up the grassy embankment opposite the mudslide in order to avoid the water-logged roadway, then fairly slid down, catching himself with one hand behind him so as not to land on the seat of his pants. He ripped the plastic envelope holding the ticket from under the wiper blade and glanced at the signature in the bottom right-hand corner. It really had been Frankie! Why that weaselly little-- 

***** 

Vincent was about to park his car right behind where Avril had tethered King Ransom to the light pole in front of Fitzgerald's, but he quickly thought better of it and pulled well forward of the horse. He dashed across the street to the garda station in order to catch Frankie while she was still in the office. He had a little bone to pick with her. 

"I ought to have you brought up on charges of insider dealing," Vincent said huffily as he peered through the little window at the counter. 

Frankie looked up from her desk and paused her pen in mid-air, her mouth hanging half way open. "What?" 

Vincent tossed the ticket contemptuously down on the counter. "I came to you for help, with every intention of paying the registration fee, and you take the first opportunity when my back is turned to slap me with a fine. Some friend you are!" 

At the sight of the ticket, Frankie realized what Vincent was on about. She got up on her high horse. "First of all, Father, friendship doesn't come into it. I can't ignore the law just because I happen to be on good terms with the offender. And secondly, that fine," she pointed her pen at the offending slip of paper, "has nothing whatsoever to do with your vehicle registration." Frankie returned her attention to her paperwork. "If you want to contest it, you'll find instructions on the back." 

Vincent was bewildered. He picked up the ticket and looked at it more carefully. So much information, so many little boxes. Date...Time...Vehicle Number...Ah, there it was: Infraction. Vincent squinted in consternation. "Blocking a public thoroughfare?" He bent over to look at Frankie through the window again. "I wasn't blocking any public thoroughfare! That road was already blocked!" 

Frankie sighed and put down her pen. "And it will be blocked for at least another 24 hours, thanks to you." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Public works sent out a crew with a bulldozer to clear the mud away, but they couldn't get past your car. Just be glad I was there, or they would have had your car towed all the way to Cilldargan. Then you would have been out not just the fine, but the towing and storage fees as well." 

"Oh. Well." Vincent felt a little contrite, but not much. It wasn't his fault the roads around here were so narrow! 

"No need to thank me, Father, the gratitude is written all over your face," Frankie said dryly. 

"Sorry, Frankie. I'll just, er, get this taken care of then." 

Vincent departed rather sheepishly. Frankie stuck her tongue out at his back. Serves him right for spending all his time with Avril! 

***** 

"I don't believe this!" Avril threw up her arms in disgust. "You know there's no way I can move this all today!" 

Paul shrugged disinterestedly. "Those are the terms." 

"Paul, you're really not being fair," Óonagh interjected. 

Paul wheeled on Óonagh in agitation. "What is this, taking sides against your own husband?" 

"I'm not taking sides," Óonagh said defensively, then continued in a persuasive tone, "I'm just saying, I'd like to get these oats out of here. Today!" 

Paul tried to appear extremely reasonable. "Well so would I love, so would I. But as it appears that Ms. Burke has no means of transporting them--" 

"Means I have, just not all by myself, not in this weather, and not with the road in the condition it is!" Avril interrupted. 

"Well, you can hardly expect me to be accountable for the weather. Ask him," Paul pointed at Vincent, who had just entered from outside. "If anyone has the faith to move mountains of mud, he'd be our man." 

Vincent smiled genially as he gingerly removed his poncho, trying to achieve a minimum of puddling. "What's that?" 

"Father, maybe you can talk some sense into Paul here," said Óonagh briskly. "He's turning what started out as a fine Christian gesture into a money-making opportunity." 

"Oh, Óonagh," Vincent demurred, "I'm sure Paul will do the right thing, won't you Paul?" Vincent patted Paul on the shoulder on his way to the stairs. "Hi," he said as he passed by Avril. 

"Hi," she smiled at him. 

"I'll just...be upstairs," Vincent announced, to no one in particular. 

"All right, Father," Óonagh said, keeping her narrowed eyes on Paul. 

"Yeah, great, Father, see ya," Paul said with utter lack of enthusiasm, keeping his eyes fixed on Avril like an owl on a mouse. 

***** 

Ten minutes later, Vincent had dried off and changed into his black suit. A knock sounded at the door. 

"I think I've found a solution," Avril said excitedly when Vincent opened up. "Oh," she stopped short when she saw how he was dressed. She tried to take a peek around Vincent's shoulder into the room. "So this is where you live?" She squeezed past him. "I've never been in a priest's private quarters before." She looked around curiously at the somewhat frilly decor. "Shouldn't there be more crucifixes and icons?" She seemed a little disappointed. "And less...lace?" 

Vincent stood by the open door and watched Avril, amused. "Please, come in," he said. "Don't be shy." 

Avril turned around suddenly and looked at Vincent. Maybe she had overstepped a boundary. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean--" 

"It's all right," Vincent reassured her. "I've got no skeletons in my wardrobe. Go on." 

"What?" 

"Your solution?" he prompted her. 

Avril turned all businesslike. "So. Here's the deal. Dear old Paul downstairs is going to charge me for storage if the oats stay here overnight. Liam and Dónal are getting their truck. We're going to load it up with the oats, they'll drive as far as where the road is blocked while I dash ahead on the King. I'll bring my big horse box down, we'll transfer the oats from their truck to mine, and Paul will be outfoxed at his own game. What do you think?" 

"Wha--..." Vincent said, slightly dazed. That had gone by too fast. But he had got the gist. "I think that's great," he said, once he had recovered, with great appreciation for Avril's ingenuity. 

"There's just one thing," Avril began tentatively. "I was going to ask if you'd help, but it looks like you've got something else going on." She eyed Vincent's suit. 

"What?" Vincent looked down at where Avril's gaze was directed. "Oh...this?" He pulled at his sleeve and felt his collar to make sure it was sitting right. "Yeah, I was going to head up to the church," he admitted. For confessions. Although he knew that if he went, he'd end up talking to himself for an hour. Not necessarily a bad thing, especially after what had gone on today. Of course, if he didn't go, this would be the day that Kathleen showed up and he'd never hear the end of it. To hell with it. "But since you asked so nicely..." Vincent stepped over to his dresser and pulled a dry pair of jeans out of the drawer. "Give me two minutes," he said. 

"Thanks, Vincent," Avril said with real gratitude. 

Vincent started unbuttoning his shirt, then stopped when he saw that Avril hadn't moved. "Ahm, I'll meet you downstairs, I'm Mr. Circumspect now, remember?" 

Avril started in realization, "Oh, right, sorry, what am I thinking, I'm not thinking, I'm off!" she babbled on her way out. "We'll start loading," she called over her shoulder and shut the door behind her. 

***** 

An hour later, six figures were visible in the beams of the halogen headlights, forming a human chain across the gap between the two passable stretches of road. In addition to Liam and Dónal, Edso, who had happened to be in the bar, had volunteered his services as well. They were passing the last couple of sacks down from the tarpaulin-covered flat-bed and across the water to the back of the open horse box: Liam to Dónal to Edso to Vincent to John Joe to Avril. The rain had dwindled to a sad drizzle, but it was cold and everyone's hands were stiff and numb. 

When the last sack had been safely ferried across, Liam, Dónal and Edso scurried into the cab of the blue truck, started up the engine, and turned on the heaters full blast. John Joe climbed up into Avril's truck and did the same. 

"Hey, thanks, fellas!" Avril shouted toward the three men shivering in Liam and Dónal's truck. They might have heard her, but they were too occupied with arguing over whose hands got to be in front of the heater vents to acknowledge it. 

"Buy them a couple of rounds on me when you get back," Avril said to Vincent. 

"You all right?" Vincent asked, nodding toward the sacks piled up in the horse trailer. 

"Oh yeah," she assured him, "we'll just leave them in there for now. Probably drier than in the storage shed anyhow." 

They both stood in the rain for a few moments, knowing that the time had come to say good-bye. Dónal flashed the lights at them and slowly reversed away, leaving them not only wet and cold, but momentarily blinded. 

"Well, I'd better get back," Avril finally said. 

"You going to be all right tonight?" Vincent knew the question was superfluous; Avril really had everything under control. But it was just his way of expressing that he cared about her. 

"Sure, John Joe's staying over. He reached his wife this afternoon." 

"Good...." 

"Thanks for everything, Vincent." Avril reached out and squeezed Vincent's hand. 

"My pleasure," Vincent said, covering her hand with his other one. She shivered. Once again he had that urge to reassure her, although maybe it was really he who needed reassurance. "And Avril..." 

She watched him through the dark, misty air, blinking rain out of her eyes. 

"...You know," he said, pressing her hand between his. 

Avril smiled. "I know." 


End file.
